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OVERLAND  LIBRARY  NO.  4 


SELECTED  STORIE,^ 


FROM  THE  GERMAN 

OF 


StP 


"/  l 

ar« 


PAUL  HEYSE. 

I 


CONTENTS: 

’aRRABIATA — BEPPE,  THE  STAR-GAZER MARIA  FRANCISCA. 


CHICAGO: 

L.  SCHICK,  PUBLISHER. 


/ 


Entered  according  to  act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1885,  by 
LOUIS  SCHICK, 

in  the  office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


1 


L’ARRABIATA. 

[From  the  German  of  Paul  Heyse.] 


COPYRIGHT,  1885,  BY  L.  SCHICK. 


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The  sun  had  not  yet  risen.  Above  Vesuvius  a 
broad  gray  stripe  of  mist  was  floating,  which  stretched 
across  toward  Naples  and  cast  its  shadow  upon  the  small 
towns  along  that  part  of  the  coast.  The  sea  was  calm. 
But  among  the  shipping  lying  at  anchor  in  a narrow  bay 
beneath  the  tall  cliffs  of  Sorrento,  the  fishermen  and  their 
wives  were  already  stirring,  drawing  to  shore  with  stout 
ropes  the  boats  and  their  nets,  which  had  been  set  outside 
to  catch  fish  during  the  night.  Others  were  getting  their 
boats  in  readiness,  hoisting  the  sails  and  bringing  the  oars 
and  yards  out  of  the  large  grated  vaults  which  are  built 
deep  into  the  cliffs  to  keep  the  boats’  property  over  night. 
Not  a single  idle  person  was  to  be  seen,  for  even  the  old 
folks  who  no  longer  went  to  sea,  took  their  places  in  the 
long  chain  of  those  who  were  hauling  in  the  nets,  and 
here  and  there  some  little  old  grandmother  was  standing 
on  one  of  the  flat  roofs  with  her  distaff  in  her  hand,  or  was 
busy  with  her  grandchildren  while  her  daughter  was  help- 
ing her  husband. 

“Just  look,  Bachela ! There  is  our  Padre  Curato,” 
said  one  old  woman  to  a little  creature  about  ten  years  old, 
who  was  brandishing  a distaff  by  her  side.  “He  is  just 
getting  into  the  boat.  Antonio  is  going  to  take  him  over 
to  Capri.  Maria  Santissima ! how  sleepy  the  reverend 


6 


l’arrabiata. 


signor  looks  still ! ” — And  as  she  said  this,  she  waved  her 
hand  to  a kindly-looking  little  priest,  who  was  settling  him- 
self below  in  the  boat,  after  having  carefully  raised  his 
black  coat  and  spread  it  out  over  the  wooden  seat.  The 
other  people  on  shore  had  stopped  their  work  to  watch  the 
departure  of  their  pastor,  who  nodded  and  bowed  right  and 
left,  in  a bright,  friendly  way. 

“ But  why  does  he  have  to  go  to  Capri,  Grrandmother?  ” 
asked  the  child.  “ Haven’t  the  people  there  got  any  priest, 
that  they  have  to  borrow  ours?  ” 

“Don’t  be  so  simple!”  said  the  old  woman.  “They 
have  plenty  there,  and  the  most  beautiful  churches,  and  a , 
hermit  besides,  which  is  more  than  we  have.  But  there  is 
a grand  signora  there  who  lived  a long  while  here  in 
Sorrento,  and  was  very  sick,  so  that  the  padre  had  to  go  to 
her  often  to  give  her  the  sacrament,  when  they  thought  she 
could  not  live  through  another  night.  Well,  the  Holy  Yir-  j 
gin  came  to  her  aid,  so  that  she  grew  strong  and  well 
again  and  could  go  in  bathing  every  day  in  the  sea.  When 
she  went  away  from  here,  over  to  Capri,  she  gave  a fine  lot 
of  money  to  the  church  and  to  the  poor,  and  did  not  want : 
to  leave,  they  say,  until  the  padre  had  promised  her  to,; 
visit  her  over  there  so  that  she  could  confess  to  him.  For  i 
it  is  astonishing  how  much  she  thinks  of  him.  And  we « 
may  bless  ourselves  for  our  luck  in  having  a priest  who  > 
has  talents  enough  for  an  archbishop  and  is  in  such  de-  ‘ 
mand  among  all  the  great  folks.  The  Madonna  be  with 
him  1 ” — And  saving  this  she  waved  her  hand  to  the  little 
vessel  below  that  was  just  pushing  ofi! 

“Are  we  going  to  have  fair  weather,  my  son?”  asked 
the  little  priest,  looking  anxiously  across  toward  Naples. 

“The  sun  is  not  up  ^^et,”  the  young  fellow  replied. 
“It  will  soon  put  an  end  to  that  little  bit  of  fog.” 


l’arrabiata. 


7 


“ Then  go  ahead,  so  that  we  can  arrive  before  the  heat 
of  the  dsij.'' 

Antonio  had  just  seized  the  long  oar  to  push  the  boat 
out  into  the  water,  when  he  suddenly  paused  and  gazed  up 
toward  the  upper  part  of  the  steep  path  which  leads  from 
the  little  town  of  Sorrento  down  to  the  bay.  The  slender 
figure  of  a girl  had  appeared  in  sight  up  there,  rapidly  de- 
scending the  stone  steps,  and  waving  a handkerchief  She 
was  carrying  a bundle  under  her  arm  and  her  clothing 
was  povert3-stricken  enough.  Yet  she  had  an  almost 
aristocratic,  although  rather  savage  way  of  throwing  back 
her  head,  and  her  black  braids  which  she  wore  wound 
around  her  head  above  her  brow,  became  her  like  a diadem. 

“What  are  we  waiting  for?  ” inquired  the  priest. 

“Somebody  else  is  coming  down  to  the  boat  who 
wants  to  go  to  Capri  too.  If  3^ou  will  allow  it,  Padre — the 
boat  won’t  go  any  slower  on  her  account,  for  she  is  only  a 
slight  3"oung  thing,  hardly  eighteen  years  old.” 

At  this  moment  the  girl  emerged  from  behind  the 
wall  which  lined  the  winding  path.  “ Laurella?  ” exclaimed 
the  priest.  “What  is  taking  her  to  Capri? ” 

Antonio  shrugged  his  shoulders.  The  girl  approached 
them  with  rapid  steps,  looking  straight  ahead. 

“Good  morning,  I’Arrabiata,”  some  of  the  young  fish- 
ermen called  to  her.  They  would  have  said  more,  if  the 
Curato’s  presence  had  not  held  them  in  awe,  for  the  mute, 
defiant  wa3'  in  which  the  girl  received  their  greeting, 
seemed  to  irritate  the  impudent  fellows. 

“Good  morning,  Laurella,”  the  priest  now  called  also. 
“How  is  it?  Ho  3"Ou  want  to  go  with  us  to  Capri?  ” 

“If  3"ou  have  no  objections.  Padre.” 

“Ask  Antonio;  he  is  the  owner  of  the  vessel.  Ever}" 
man  is  lord  of  his  own  and  God  is  lord  over  us  all.” 

I 


I 


8 


l’arrabiata. 


^‘Here  is  half  a carlino.  Can  I go  for  that?”  said 
Laurella,  without  looking  at  the  young  boatman. 

‘‘You  can  use  it  better  than  I,”  muttered  the  young 
fellow,  pushing  some  baskets  of  oranges  to  one  side  to  make 
room.  He  was  going  to  sell  them  in  Capri,  for  that  rocky 
island  does  not  produce  oranges  in  sufficient  quantities  for 
the  consumption  of  its  numerous  visitors. 

“I  will  not  go  with  you  without  paying,”  the  girl  re- 
plied, contracting  her  black  eyebrows. 

“Come,  child,”  the  priest  said.  “He  is  a fine  lad  and 
does  not  want  to  grow  rich  out  of  your  poverty.  There, 
climb  in,”  and  he  gave  her  his  hand.  “Sit  down  here  be-' 
side  me.  Look  ! he’s  spread  his  jacket  down  for  you  so> 
that  your  seat  will  be  softer.  He  didn’t  fix  things  so  nicely; 
for  me.  But  young  folks, — that’s  the  way  with  them' 
always.  More  pains  are  taken  for  one  little  maiden  than, 
for  ten  reverend  signors.  Come,  come,  3^011  need  not  apol-' 
ogize,  Tonino ; it  is  our  Heavenly  Father’s  own  arrange- 
ment, that  like  should  turn  to  like.” 

Laurella  had  climbed  on  board  in  the  meanwhile,  and 
had  seated  herself  after  having  pushed  the  jacket  to  one 
side  without  saying  a word.  The  3"Oung  boatman  let  it  lie'^ 
there,  and  muttered  something  between  his  teeth.  Theiv 
he  pushed  vigorousl}/"  against  the  pier,  and  the  little  boat 
shot  out  into  the  open  bay.  . 

“What  have  you  there  in  \^our  bundle?”  asked  the 
priest,  as  they  were  rowed  along  over  the  sea  which  was 
just  beginning  to  gleam  in  the  first  sunbeams. 

“ Some  silk,  ^^arn,  and  a piece  of  bread,  Padre.  I am 
going  to  sell  the  silk  to  a woman  in  Capri  who  makes  rib- 
bons, and  the  ^mrn  to  another.” 

“Did  you  spin  it  ^^ourself?  ” 

“Yes,  sir.” 


l’arrabiata. 


9 


“If  I remember  rightly,  3^ou  learned  how  to  make 
ribbons  yourself.” 

“Yes,  sir.  But  mother  is  worse  again  so  that  I can 
not  leave  home,  and  we  can  not  pay  for  a loom  of  our 
own.” 

“Worse?  Oh,  oh!  When  I was  at  your  house  at 
Easter  time,  she  was  sitting  up.” 

“ Spring  is  alwa^^s  the  hardest  time  for  her.  Since  we 
have  been  having  the  bad  storms  and  the  earthquakes,  she 
has  had  to  lie  in  bed  all  the  time,  she  aches  so.” 

“Do  not  cease  your  prayers  and  petitions,  my  child, 
that  the  Holy  Virgin  may  make  intercession  for  you.  And 
be  good  and  industrious  so  that  your  praying  will  be 
heard.” 

After  a pause.  “As  you  came  down  to  the  beach, 
they  called  to  J^ou : ^Grood  morning,  FArrabiata.’  Why 
do  they  call  you  thus?  It  is  not  a pretty  name  for  a 
Christian  girl  who  ought  to  be  gentle  and  meek.” 

The  girl’s  brown  face  glowed  all  over  and  her  e^^es 
flashed. 

“ They  make  fun  of  me  because  I do  not  dance  and 
sing  and  carry  on  like  the  rest.  They  ought  to  let  me 
alone  ; I don’t  do  an^dhing  to  them.” 

“ But  you  could  be  civil  to  everybody".  Others  whose 
life  is  easier  than  yours,  might  sing  and  dance.  But  to 
speak  kindly  is  right  and  proper  even  for  one  in  sorrow.” 

She  looked  down  and  drew  her  eyebrows  closer  to- 
gether as  if  she  wanted  to  hide  her  dark  eyes  beneath  them. 
For  a while  tlie^"  were  rowed  along  in  silence.  The  sun  had 
now  risen  resplendent  above  the  mountain  range  ; the  sum- 
mit of  y esuvius  towered  above  the  layer  of  clouds  which 
still  concealed  its  base,  and  the  houses  on  the  plain  of  Sor- 
rento gleamed  forth  white  from  the  green  orange  groves. 

“Have  3^ou  never  heard  an3dhing  more  from  that 


10 


L ARRABIATA. 


painter,  Laurella,  that  Neapolitan,  who  wanted  to  marry 
you?  ” asked  the  priest. 

She  shook  her  head. 

“He  came  that  time  to  paint  a picture  of  you.  Why 
did  you  refuse  him?  ” 

“What  did  he  want  it  for?  There  are  others  more 
beautiful  than  I.  And  then — who  knows  what  he  might 
have  done  with  it  He  might  have  bewitched  me  with  it 
and  ruined  my  soul,  or  even  killed  me,  my  mother  said.” 

“Ho  not  believe  such  sinful  things,”  said  the  priest 
earnestly.  “ Are  you  not  always  in  God’s  hands,  without 
whose  will  not  a single  hair  can  fall  from  your  head?  And 
shall  a mortal  with  a picture  like  that  in  his  hands,  be 
more  powerful  than  the  Lord  our  God?  Besides  you  could 
see  that  he  wished  you  well.  Would  he  have  wanted  to, 
marry  you  otherwise?  ” 

She  did  not  reply.  ; 

“And  why  did  you  refuse  him?  He  was  said  to  be  a 
fine  man,  and  very  distinguished-looking,  and  he  could 
have  supported  you  and  your  mother  better  than  you  are 
able  to,  with  your  bit  of  spinning  and  silk  winding.” 

“We  are  poor  folks,”  she  exclaimed  impetuously,  “ and. 
my  mother  has  been  sick  now  for  ever  so  long.  We  should  i 
only  have  been  a burden  to  him.  And  I am  not  a fit' 
match  for  a signor,  either.  When  his  friends  came  to  see^J 
me  he  w^ould  have  been  ashamed  of  me.”  ; 

“How  you  talk  ! I tell  you  he  was  good  and  kind. 
And  besides,  he  would  have  been  willing  to  settle  down  in 
Sorrento.  Another  one  like  that,  sent  as  if  by  Heaven  ta 
help  3’ou,  will  not  come  soon  again.”  i 

“I  don’t  want  any  husband,  ever!”  she  said  very 
defiantl}’,  and  as  if  to  herself.  v 

“Have  you  made  any  vow,  or  do  you  want  to  enter  a 
convent?  ” i 


l’arrabiata. 


11 


She  shook  her  head. 

‘‘The  people  are  right  when  they  accuse  you  of  being 
obstinate,  even  if  that  nickname  is  not  a very  pretty  one. 
Have  you  never  considered  that  you  are  not  alone  in  the 
world,  and  that  your  sick  mother’s  life  and  sickness  are 
made  only  the  more  bitter  by  your  waywardness?  What 
important  reasons  can  you  have  for  rejecting  every  honest 
hand  which  wishes  to  support  you  and  your  mother? 
Answer  me,  Laurella  ! ” 

“I  have  a good  reason,”  she  said  reluctantly  and  in  a 
low  tone.  “But  I can  not  tell  it.” 

“Not  tell  it?  Not  even  to  me?  Not  even  to  your 
father  confessor,  whom  you  can  surely  trust  that  he  has 
your  welfare  at  heart?  Or  isn’t  this  so?  ” 

She  nodded. 

“Then  relieve  your  heart,  my  child.  If  you  are  right, 
I will  be  the  first  to  acknowledge  it.  But  you  are  3'Oung 
and  know  little  of  the  world,  and  some  time,  later  on,  you 
might  regret  having  forfeited  your  happiness  for  the  sake 
of  some  childish  ideas.” 

She  cast  a shy,  fleeting  glance  across  at  the  young 
fellow  who  was  seated  in  the  back  of  the  boat,  energetically 
rowing,  with  his  woolen  cap  pulled  down  low  upon  his 
forehead.  He  was  gazing  down  into  the  sea  at  the  side  of 
the  boat  and  seemed  to  be  buried  in  his  own  thoughts. 
The  priest  saw  her  glance  and  inclined  his  ear  closer  to  her. 

“You  did  not  know  my  father,”  she  whispered,  and 
her  eyes  looked  dark  and  gloomy. 

“Your  father?  He  died,  I believe,  when  you  were 
scarcely  ten  3^ears  old.  What  has  your  father — whose 
soul  I hope  is  in  Paradise — to  do  with  your  obstinacy?  ” 

“You  did  not  know  him.  Padre.  You  do  not  know 
jthat  he  alone  is  to  blame  for  m}'  mother’s  illness.” 

; “How  so?” 


) 


12 


l'arrabiata. 


“ Because  he  ill  treated  her,  and  beat  her,  and  kickec 
her.  I well  remember  the  nights  when  he  used  to  come 
home  in  a frenzy.  She  never  said  anything  to  him  and  die 
everything  he  wanted  her  to.  But  he  kept  beating  her  un- 
til my  heart  nearly  broke.  I used  to  draw  the  covers  up 
over  my  head  and  pretend  I was  asleep,  but  I would  cr^; 
the  whole  night  long.  And  when  he  saw  her  lying  on  the 
floor,  then,  he  would  change  suddenly,  and  would  lift  hei 
up  and  kiss  her,  until  she  would  cry  out  that  he  was  suflb- 
cating  her.  Mother  forbade  my  ever  saying  a word  about 
it;  but  it  injured  her  so  that  in  all  these  long  years  since 
he  died,  she  has  never  been  well  again.  And  if  she  should 
die  prematurely — which  Heaven  forbid  ! — I shall  know 
who  it  was  that  killed  her.” 

The  little  priest  moved  his  head  to  and  fro,  and 
seemed  undecided  how  far  he  should  concede  the  point. 
At  last  he  said : ‘‘Forgive  him,  as  your  mother  has  for; 
given  him.  Bo  not  let  your  thoughts  dwell  upon  those 
gloomy  scenes,  Laurella.  Better  times  are  coming  for  you 
and  they  will  make  you  forget  all  that  is  past.” 

“ I shall  never  forget  it,”  she  said  with  a shudder.  “ And 
let  me  tell  you.  Padre,  it  is  on  this  account  I am  going  to 
remain  unmarried,  so  as  not  to  be  dependent  upon  any  one 
who  could  ill-treat  me  and  then  caress  me.  If  any  oiiC 
wants  to  beat  me  or  kiss  me  now,  I know  how  to  defend 
m^^self.  But  my  mother  was  not  able  to  defend  herself,  tci 
ward  ofl*  the  blows  and  the  kisses,  because — she  loved  him. 
And  I am  not  going  to  love  any  one,  to  be  made  sick  and 
wretched  by  him.” 

“What  a child  3"ou  are  still,  and  talking  like  one  who 
knows  nothing  about  what  is  going  on  in  the  world  ! Are 
all  husbands  like  what  3^0111*  poor  father  was,  yielding  tq 
every  passing  fanc3^  and  passion,  and  treating  their  wiA^e^ 
badly?  Haven’t  3^ou  seen  enough  good  husbands  in  the.; 


L ARRABIATA. 


13 


neighborhood  and  wives  who  lived  in  peace  and  harmony 
with  their  husbands?  ” 

‘‘No  one  knew  about  my  father,  how  he  treated  my 
mother,  either,  for  she  would  have  died  a thousand  times, 
rather  than  have  told  of  it  and  complained.  And  all  this, 
because  she  loved  him.  If  love  is  that  way,  that  it  locks  a 
woman’s  lips,  when  she  ought  to  be  calling  for  help,  and 
makes  her  defenseless  against  cruelties  worse  than  the 
cruelest  enem}"  could  inflict  upon  her,  then  I will  never  set 
my  heart  on  any  man.” 

“ I tell  3’ou  that  you  are  a child  and  do  not  know  what 
you  are  talking  about.  Your  heart  will  consult  you  a long 
while  as  to  whether  you  want  to  fall  in  love  or  not,  when 
its  time  comes ; then  nothing  of  all  this  you  have  in  your 
head  will  be  of  any  use.” — Again,  after  a pause : — “And 
that  painter,  did  you  think  he  was  going  to  ill-treat  you?  ” 

“His  eyes  looked  as  my  father’s  used  to  when  he 
begged  Mother’s  pardon  and  wanted  to  take  her  in  his 
arms  and  make  up  again.  I know  that  look  in  a person’s 
eyes  ! even  a man  who  can  have  the  heart  to  beat  his  wife 
who  has  never  done  him  any  harm,  can  look  that  way  too. 
1 was  horrified  when  I saw  that  look  again  ! ” 

After  this  she  maintained  a resolute  silence.  The 
priest  too  was  silent.  He  bethought  himself  it  is  true  of 
several  fine  sayings  which  he  might  have  repeated  for  the 
girl’s  benefit.  But  the  presence  of  the  young  boatman, 
who  had  become  more  and  more  restless  toward  the  close 
of  the  confession,  sealed  his  lips. 

When  they  arrived  in  the  small  harbor  of  Capri,  after 
a two  hours’  trip,  Antonio  carried  the  priest  from  the  boat 
through  the  last  shallow  waves  and  set  him  down  respect- 
fully on  the  shore.  But  Baurella  had  not  been  willing  to 
wait  until  he  should  wade  back  to  get  her.  She  gathered 
up  her  skirts,  took  her  little  wooden  shoes  in  her  right 


14 


l’arrabiata. 


hand  and  the  bundle  in  her  left,  and  splashed  nimbly 
ashore. 

“I  shall  probably  stay  quite  a while  in  Capri  today,” 
said  the  Padre,  “and  you  need  not  wait  for  me.  Perhaps 
T shall  not  go  back  home  till  tomorrow.  And,  Laurella, 
when  you  return,  remember  me  to  your  mother.  I shall 
come  to  see  you  before  this  week  is  out.  You  are  going 
back  before  night?  ” 

“If  there  is  an  opportunity,”  said  the  girl,  giving  all 
her  attention  to  her  skirts. 

“You  know  I have  to  go  back  too,”  observed  Anto- 
nino,  in  what  he  imagined  was  a very  indifferent  tone.  “I 
will  wait  for  you  till  the  Ave  Maria.  If  you  have  not ' 
come  then,  it  will  be  all  the  same  to  me.” 

“You  must  come,  Laurella,”  interposed  the  little 
priest.  “You  ought  not  to  leave  your  mother  alone  a' 
single  night.  Is  it  far  to  where  you  have  to  go?  ” 

“To  a vineyard  at  Anacapri.”  ^ 

“ And  I have  to  go  to  Capri.  God  bless  you,  my 
child,  and  you  also,  my  son.” 

Laurella  kissed  his  hand  and  uttered  a “Goodbye,” 
which  the  Padre  and  Antonino  might  share  between  them.  ' 
Antonino  however  did  not  appropriate  an}'  of  it.  He  | 
lifted  his  cap  to  the  Padre  and  did  not  look  at  Laurella.  | 

But  when  they  had  both  turned  their  backs  upon 
him  he  only  allowed  his  eyes  to  follow  the  clerg3^man  for  a i 
short  way,  as  he  toiled  along  through  the  deep,  loose,  roll* 
ing  gravel,  and  then  turned  them  after  the  girl  who  was 
climbing  to  the  right  up  the  hill,  holding  her  hand  over 
her  eyes  to  shade  them  from  the  blazing  sun.  Just  before 
the  path  above  vanished  behind  the  walls,  she  stopped  a 
moment  as  if  to  take  breath  and  looked  around.  The  boats 
lay  at  her  feet,  around  her  towered  the  steep  crags,  the ! 
blue  sea  glittered  in  rare  splendor — it  was  indeed  a scene 

'll 


L ARRABIATA. 


15 


well  worth  stopping  to  admire.  Chance  contrived  it  that 
her  glance,  passing  over  Antonino’s  boat,  met  the  glance 
which  Antonino  had  sent  after  her.  They  both  made  a 
motion  as  people  do  who  wish  to  apologize  for  something 
that  only  happened  l\y  accident,  after  which  the  girl  with 
a gloomy  expression  around  her  mouth,  continued  on 
her  way. 

* * 

* 

It  was  only  an  hour  past  noon  and  yet  Antonino  had 
already  been  sitting  a couple  of  hours  on  a bench  in  front 
of  the  fishermen’s  hotel.  Something  must  have  been  on 
his  mind,  for  every  five  minutes  he  sprang  to  his  feet, 
stepped  out  into  the  sunshine  and  carefully  looked  along 
the  paths  which  led,  one  to  the  right  and  the  other  to  the 
left,  to  the  only  two  towns  upon  the  island.  The  weather 
looked  doubtful  to  him,  he  told  the  landlady  of  the  hotel. 
To  be  sure  it  was  clear,  but  he  knew  that  tint  in  the  sky 
and  sea.  It  looked  just  so  that  time  before  the  last  great 
storm  when  he  had  such  work  bringing  that  English  family 
to  shore.  Did  she  remember  it? 

“No,”  said  the  woman. 

“Well,  you  will  remember  it,  if  the  weather  changes 
before  night.” 

“Are  there  many  visitors  over  yonder?”  the  landlady 
incpiired  after  a while. 

“They  are  just  beginning  to  come.  We’ve  had  a bad 
season  so  far.  Those  who  generally  come  for  the  bathing 
are  still  only  expected.” 

“The  spring  was  late.  Have  you  made  more  money 
than  we  here  in  Capri?  ” 

“ It  wouldn’t  have  been  enough  to  get  me  maccaroni 
twice  a week,  if  I had  been  entirely  dependent  on  my  boat. 
There  was  now  and  then  a letter  to  take  to  Naples  or  a 


16 


l’arrabiata. 


signor  to  row  out  to  sea  to  fish — that  was  all.  But 
you  know  that  my  uncle  owns  the  large  orange  groves  and 
is  a rich  man.  ‘Tonino/  he  says,  ‘as  long  as  I live  you 
shall  not  have  to  suffer  want,  and  after  that  you  will  be 
provided  for  too.’  So  with  God’s  help,  I got  through  the 
winter.” 

“Has  he  any  children,  this  uncle  of  yours?  ” 

“No.  He  has  never  been  married,  and  was  for  a long 
time  out  of  the  country,  where  he  earned  many  a piaster. 
Now  he  intends  to  establish  a large  fishing  business  and  is 
going  to  put  me  at  the  head  of  the  whole  concern,  to  look 
after  everything.” 

“You  are  a made  man,  then,  Antonino.” 

The  young  boatman  shrugged  his  shoulders.  “Every  ; 
back  has  its  burden,”  he  said.  With  this  he  sprang  up  ; 
and  studied  the  weather  to  the  right  and  to  the  left,  al- 
though he  must  have  known  that  there  can  be  but  one  ^ 
weather  side. 

“I’ll  bring  you  another  bottle.  Your  uncle  can  pay  . 
for  it,”  said  the  landlady. 

“ Only  another  glass,  for  3’ou  have  a fiery  kind  of  wine  ; 
here.  My  head  is  hot  already.'’  { 

“It  doesn't  go  into  the  blood.  You  can  drink  as  much  | 
as  you  like.  And  here  is  my  husband  just  coming  up,  3^011  > 
must  sit  and  chat  with  him  a while  longer.”  > 

With  his  net  hanging  over  his  shoulder,  his  red  cap  ‘ 
on  his  curl}^  hair,  the  handsome  padrone  of  the  little  hotel 
was  really  coming  down  the  hill.  He  had  been  taking  3. 
some  fish  into  town  which  had  been  ordered  by  that  grand| 
signora  to  set  before  the  little  priest  from  Sorrento.  As] 
he  caught  sight  of  the  3’oung  boatman,  he  waved  his  hand| 
cordiall}"  to  him  in  welcome,  and  then  sat  down  beside  himf 
on  the  bench  and  began  to  talk  and  ask  questions.  Hisf 
wife  was  just  bringing  a second  bottle  of  the  genuine,  una-  i 


l’arrabiata. 


17 


dulterated  Capri  wine,  when  a step  was  heard  on  the  sand 
to  the  left  and  Lanrella  came  toward  them  along  the  path 
from  Anacapri.  She  bowed  slightly  and  stopped  as  if 
undecided. 

Antonino  sprang  to  his  feet.  ‘‘I  must  go,”  he  said. 
‘‘It’s  a girl  from  Sorrento  who  came  over  early  this  morn- 
ing with  the  Signor  Curato,  and  has  to  be  with  her  sick 
mother  again  by  nightfall.” 

“Come,  come,  it’s  a long  time  3^et  to  nightfall,”  said 
the  fisherman.  “ She  will  have  time  to  drink  a glass  of  wine. 
Halloo,  there,  wife,  bring  another  glass.” 

“No,  I thank  3^011,  I don’t  wish  an3",”  said  Laurella, 
remaining  at  some  distance. 

“ Pour  it  out,  wife,  pour  it  out ! She  onl3"  wants  a little 
urging.” 

“ Better  leave  her  alone,”  said  the  3'Oung  fellow.  “ She 
has  a will  of  her  own ; anything  she  don’t  want  to  do,  a 
saint  from  Heaven  couldn’t  talk  her  into.  — And  so  sa3fing 
he  hastil3^  took  leave  of  them,  ran  down  to  the  boat,  put  it 
in  trim  for  starting,  and  stood  waiting  for  the  girl.  She 
bowed  again  back  to  the  proprietors  of  the  hotel  and  then 
walked  with  lingering  steps  down  toward  the  shore.  She 
first  glanced  all  around  as  if  she  had  expected  that  some 
other  passengers  would  make  their  appearance.  But  the 
bay  was  deserted  ; the  fishermen  were  asleep  or  else  out  on 
the  water  with  their  rods  and  nets,  a few  women  and  chil- 
dren were  sitting  in  their  doorways,  sleeping  or  spinning, 
and  such  strangers  as  had  come  over  in  the  morning  were 
waiting  for  the  cooler  part  of  the  da3^  for  their  return  trip. 
She  did  not  have  time  to  look  around  her  long  either,  for 
before  she  could  prevent  it,  Antonino  had  taken  her  in  his 
arms  and  carried  her  like  a child  to  the  boat.  Then  he 
leaped  in  after  her,  and  with  a few  strokes  of  the  oars,  the3" 
were  in  deep  water. 


18 


l’arrabiata. 


She  had  sat  down  in  the  forward  part  of  the  boat,  and 
partly  turned  her  back  upon  him,  so  that  he  could  only  see 
her  profile.  Her  features  were  now  even  graver  than 
usual.  Her  hair  hung  far  down  on  her  low  forehead,  and  a 
wilful  expression  hovered  around  the  delicate  nostrils  while 
her  rounded  lips  were  firmly  compressed.  After  they  had 
rowed  a while  in  silence  across  the  sea,  she  felt  the  scorch- 
ing rays  of  the  sun,  and  taking  the  bread  out  of  her  hand- 
kerchief she  tied  the  latter  over  her  braids.  Then  she 
began  to  eat  the  bread  she  had  brought  for  her  lunch ; for 
she  had  eaten  nothing  in  Capri.  Antonino  did  not  watch 
this  long.  He  produced  a couple  of  oranges  out  of  one  of 
the  baskets  which  had  been  filled  with  them  in  the  morn- 
ing and  said  : “ Here  is  something  to  go  with  your  bread, 

Laurella.  You  need  not  think  I saved  them  out  for  you. 
The}^  rolled  out  of  the  basket  into  the  boat,  and  I found 
them  when  I was  putting  the  empty  baskets  back  into  the 
boat.” 

“Eat  them  yourself.  I have  enough  with  my  bread.” 

“They  are  refreshing  in  the  heat,  and  you  have 
walked  so  far.” 

“They  gave  me  a glass  of  water  up  there,  which  has 
already  refreshed  me.” 

“As  you  like,”  he  said  and  dropped  them  back  into  the 
basket. 

Another  silence.  The  sea  was  smooth  as  a mirror  and 
barely  rippled  against  the  keel.  Even  the  white  sea-birds 
wliicli  make  their  homes  in  the  holes  along  the  coast, 
darted  noiselessly  upon  their  prey. 

“You  might  take  those  two  oranges  to  your  mother,” 
Antonino  began  again. 

“We  have  some  left  at  home,  and  when  they  are  gone 
1 will  go  and  bu}^  some  more.” 

“Just  take  them  to  her  with  my  compliments.” 


l’arrabiata. 


19 


“She  is  not  acquainted  with  3011.’’ 

“Well,  3’ou  could  tell  her  then  who  I am.” 

“I  am  not  acquainted  with  3’^oii,  either.” 

It  was  not  the  first  time  that  she  had  thus  denied  him. 
A 3A^ar  ago,  when  that  artist  had  just  come  to  Sorrento,  it 
happened  one  Sunda3^  that  Antonino  with  some  other  young 
fellows  of  the  town  were  pla3dng  hoccia  on  an  open  plot  of 
ground  beside  the  main  street.  It  was  there  that  the  artist 
had  first  seen  Laurella  as  she  passed  along  without  notic- 
ing him,  carrying  her  water  pitcher  on  her  head.  The 
Neapolitan,  struck  by  the  sight,  stood  still  and  gazed  after 
her,  although  he  chanced  to  be  right  in  the  wa3^  of  the 
game,  and  with  a couple  of  steps  could  have  taken 
himself  out  of  the  A ball  coming  full  tilt  against 

his  ankle,  reminded  him  that  this  was  not  exactly  the 
[)lace  to  lose  one’s  self  in  a reveiy.  He  looked  around 
as  if  expecting  an  apology.  The  3^oung  boatman  who 
had  thrown  the  ball  was  standing  silent  and  defiant  in 
the  midst  of  his  friends,  so  that  the  stranger  deemed  it 
advisable  to  leave  and  avoid  any  discussion.  But  there 
had  been  some  talk  about  the  affair,  and  it  broke  out  again 
when  the  painter  began  to  pav  court  openl)^  to  Jjaurella. 
“I  am  not  acquainted  with  him,”  the  latter  said  disdain- 
fully, when  the  painter  asked  her  whether  it  was  on  this 
rude  fellow’s  account  that  she  was  refusing  him.  And  3"et 
the  gossip  about  that  afhiir  had  come  to  her  ears  also. 
Since  then,  whenever  she  met  Antonino,  she  had  recog- 
nized him  well  enough  again. 

And  the3^  were  now  sitting  in  the  boat  like  the  ])itter- 
est  enemies  and  the  heart  of  each  was  hammering  awa3’ 
furiously.  Antonino' s usuall3^  good-natured  countenance 
was  scarlet ; he  struck  down  into  the  waves  so  that  the 
spra3’  dashed  over  him,  and  his  lips  moved  occasional I3'  as 
if  he  were  saying  angiy  words.  She  pretended  not  to 


20 


L'ARRABIATA. 


notice  this  and  wore  her  most  unconcerned  expression  as 
she  leaned  over  the  side  of  the  boat  and  let  the  water  glide 
through  her  lingers.  Then  she  untied  her  handkerchief 
and  arranged  her  hair  as  if  she  were  all  alone  in  the  boat. 
Only  her  e3^ebrows  were  still  contracted  and  in  vain  she 
held  her  dripping  hands  against  her  glowing  cheeks  to 
cool  them. 

Now  they  were  out  in  the  midst  of  the  sea,  and  there 
was  not  a sail  to  be  seen  far  or  near.  The  island  was  far 
behind  them,  the  shore  la}"  far  away  in  the  sun’s  hot  haze, 
there  was  not  even  a gull  to  break  the  profound  solitude. 
Antonino  looked  all  around  him.  A thought  seemed  to  ])e 
developing  in  his  mind.  The  flush  suddenly  vanished  from 
his  cheeks  and  he  let  his  oars  float.  Involuntarily  Laurella 
looked  around  at  him,  excited,  but  fearless. 

“I  must  put  an  end  to  this,”  the  young  fellow  burst 

forth.  “ It  has  lasted  too  long  already  and  I only  wonder ; 

that  I have  not  gone  to  destruction  on  account  of  it  long 

ago.  You  are  not  acquainted  with  me,  you  say.  Haven't 

you  seen  long  enough  how  I went  past  you  like  a crazy 

man  and  how  my  heart  was  bursting  with  what  I wanted 

to  tell  you.  And  then  you  only  curled  }"our  lips  scorn- ; 

fully  and  turned  your  back  on  me.”  | 

< 

‘AVhat  did  I have  to  say  to  you?  ” she  retorted  curtly,  i 
“ I saw  of  course  that  you  wanted  to  make  love  to  me.  But : 
I did  not  want  to  set  people  to  gossiping  for  nothing  and 
less  than  nothing.  For  take  you  for  a husband  I will  not, 
you  nor  any  other  man.” 

“Nor  any  other  man?  You  won’t  keep  on  saying  that 
always.  Because  you  sent  ofl'  the  painter?  Pah  ! i^ou 
were  still  a child  then.  You  will  be  lonely  some  time,  and 
then,  foolish  girl  that  you  are,  you  will  take  the  first  one 
that  comes  along.” 


l’arrabiata. 


21 


“No  one  knows  the  future.  It  may  be  that  I shall 
change  in}"  mind.  But  what  is  that  to  you?  ’ 

“What  is  it  to  me?'’  he  started  and  sprang  up  from 
the  rowing  seat,  so  that  the  boat  rocked.  What  is  it  to 
me?  And  you  can  say  that  when  you  know  how  it  is  witli 
me?  May  that  man  perish  miserably,  whom  you  ever  treat 
lietter  than  you  do  me  ! ’ 

‘‘Did  I ever  promise  myself  to  you?  Can  I help  it  if 
your  head  is  full  of  madness?  What  right  have  you 
to  me?  ” 

“Oh!”  he  cried,  “it  is  true  it  has  not  been  written 
out,  no  lawyer  has  put  it  down  in  Latin  and  sealed  it  ] but 
this  much  I know,  that  I have  as  much  right  to  you  as  I 
have  to  go  to  Heaven  if  I am  a good  man.  Do  you  think 
T am  going  to  look  on  when  you  go  to  church  with  some 
other  fellow,  and  the  girls  pass  me  by  and  shrug  their 
shoulders.  Am  I to  let  this  disgrace  be  put  upon  me?  ” 

“You  can  do  as  you  please.  I am  not  afraid  of  any 
of  your  threats.  I shall  do  as  I choose.” 

“You  won’t  talk  so  much  longer,”  he  said,  his  whole 
frame  quivering.  “ I am  man  enough  not  to  let  my  life  be 
spoiled  any  longer  by  a stubborn  little  thing  like  you.  Do 
you  know  that  you  are  in  my  power  here,  and  must  do 
whatever  I choose?  ” 

She  started  slightly  and  her  eyes  shot  a lightning 
glance  at  him. 

“Kill  me  if  you  dare  ! ” she  said  slowly. 

“There  is  no  use  in  doing  things  half  way,”  he  said, 
and  his  voice  sounded  hoarse.  “There  s room  for  us  both 
in  the  sea.  I can  not  save  you,  my  child'’ — and  he  spoke 
almost  compassionately,  as  if  in  a dream, — ^^“but  we  must 
go  down  there,  both  of  us,  all  of  a sudden,  and  now  ! ” he 
shouted,  seizing  her  suddenly  by  the  arms.  The  next 


22 


l’arrabiata. 


instant  however,  he  snatched  his  right  hand  awa}",  the 
blood  gushed  forth,  she  had  bitten  him  liercel3\ 

“Must  I do  what  you  choose?”  she  cried,  pushing  | 
him  away  with  a quick  movement.  “ We  ll  see,  whether  I j 
am  in  your  power  ! ” This  said,  she  sprang  over  the  edge  | 
of  tlie  boat  and  disappeared  an  insTant  in  the  depths.  She  | 
came  up  again  presently,  her  skirts  clinging  tightly  to  | 
her;  her  hair  loosened  by  the  waves,  heavy  with  water,  i 
hung  down  her  back.  She  struck  out  vigorously  with  her  j 
arms  and  without  uttering  a sound,  swam  stoutl}^  away  | 
from  the  boat  toward  the  shore.  His  intense  alarm  seemed  j 
to  have  paralyzed  his  senses.  He  stood  in  the  Iwat,  lean-  j 
ing  forward,  his  gaze  following  her  fixedly  as  if  a miracle 
were  taking  place  before  his  eyes.  Then  he  gave  himself  , 
a shake,  sprang  to  the  oars  and  rowed  after  her  with  all  ^ 
the  strength  at  his  command,  while  the  l)ottom  of  his  boat 
o’rew  red  with  the  blood  that  kept  streaming  from  his  . 
hand.  J 

Kapidl}"  as  she  was  swimming,  he  was  b}’  her  side  in  an 
instant.  “For  the  sake  of  Maria  Santissima  ! ” he  cried, 
“get  into  the  boat. — I was  crazy  ; God  knows  what  it  was  , 
that  obscured  m3’  reason,  Like  a lightning  flash  fromj 
Heaven  it  came  into  m3"  brain,  and  set  me  all  on  fire,  and  1 j 
did  not  know  what  I w’as  doing  or  sa3’ing.  You  need  not-j 
forgive  me,  Laurella,  only  save  your  life  and  come  into  the  j 
boat  again.”  ;| 

She  swam  oil  as  if  she  had  not  heard  a word.  | 

“You  will  never  get  to  shore,  it’s  two  miles  awai’  3’et  j 
— Think  of  3’our  mother  ! If  an3’  accident  should  happen 
to  3"ou,  I should  die  with  horror.” 

She  measured  the  distance  from  the  shore  with  a 
glance.  Then,  without  answering,  she  swam  up  to  the  I 
boat  and  seized  the  edge  of  it  with  her  hands.  He  stood 
up  to  help  her;  his  jacket,  which  had  been  lying  on  the 


l’arrabiata. 


23 


seat,  slid  off  into  the  sea  as  the  boat  was  tipped  over  to 
one  side  by  the  girl’s  weight.  Lightly  she  swung  herself 
on  board  and  climbed  back  to  her  former  seat.  As  soon  as 
he  saw  that  she  was  safe,  he  seized  the  oars  again.  She 
wrung  out  her  dripping  skirts  and  squeezed  the  water  out 
of  her  braids.  As  she  did  this  she  looked  down  at  the 
bottom  of  the  boat  and  noticed  the  blood.  She  cast  a 
rapid  glance  at  the  hand  which,  as  if  uninjured,  was  still 
working  the  oar.  “Here!”  she  said,  reaching  him  her 
handkerchief  He  shook  his  head  and  kept  on  rowing. 
She  got  up  final!} , went  to  hjm  and  bound  her  hand- 
kerchief firmly  around  the  deep  wound.  Then  she  took 
one  of  the  oars  out  of  his  hand,  in  spite  of  his  protesting, 
and  sat  down  facing  him,  without  glancing  at  him,  then, 
looking  fixedly  at  the  oar,  which  was  scarlet  with  his  blood, 
she  drove  the  boat  forward  with  pow'erful  strokes.  Both 
were  pale  and  silent.  As  the}'  came  nearer  to  shore,  they 
met  some  fishermen  going  out  to  set  their  seines  for  the 
night.  They  called  to  Antonino  and  said  some  teasing 
things  to  Laurella.  Neither  looked  up  nor  answei-ed 
a word. 

The  sun  was  still  standing  quite  high  above  Procida 
when  they  reached  the  quay.  Laurella  shook  out  her 
skirts  which  had  nearly  dried  in  coming  so  far  across  the 
sea,  and  jumped  ashore.  The  old  woman  who  had  watched 
their  departure  in  the  morning  as  she  spun,  was  standing 
again  upon  the  roof.  “What’s  the  matter  with  your  hand, 
Tonino?”  she  called  down  to  him.  “Jesus  Christus,  why 
your  boat  is  full  of  blood  ! ” 

“It  is  nothing,  commare,”  the  young  fellow  replied. 
“I  tore  mv  hand  on  a nail  that  stuck  out  too  far.  It  will 
be  all  right  tomorrow.  My  confounded  blood  is  so  close 
to  the  surface  that  it  always  makes  a thing  look  worse 
than  it  is.” 


24 


l’arrabiata. 


“I  will  come  down  and  put  some  herbs  on  it,  compa- 
rello.  Wait,  Til  be  right  down/’ 

“Don’t  trouble  yourself,  commare.  Everything  has 
been  done,  and  tomorrow  it  will  be  all  over  and  forgotten. 

I have  a healthy  skin  that  heals  up  again  right  away  over 
any  wound.” 

“Addio!”  said  Laurella,  and  turned  into  the  path 
which  led  up  the  hill. 

“Good  night ! ” the  young  fellow  replied  without  look- 
ing at  her.  Then  he  took  the  oars  out  of  his  boat,  with 
the  baskets,  and  climbed  up  the  narrow  stone  steps  to 
ins  hut. 

* * 

* : 

There  was  no  one  but  himself  in  the  two  rooms  ' 
through  which  he  now  paced  up  and  down.  Through  the  ' 
small  open  windows  which  were  only  closed  b}'  wooden  « 
blinds,  the  air  crept  in  more  refreshingly  than  out  upon  the 
calm  sea,  and  the  solitude  did  him  good.  He  stood  still  a 
long  while  in  front  of  the  little  picture  of  the  Virgin  Mary, 
and  gazed  musingl}^  at  the  halo  of  silver  paper  glued  on  it. 
But  the  idea  of  praying  did  not  occur  to  him.  What  did 
he  have  to  pray  for,  now  that  he  no  longer  had  any  hope.  | 

And  the  day  seemed  to  last  forever.  He  longed  for  i 
the  darkness,  for  he  was  tired,  and  the  loss  of  blood  had 
exhausted  him  more  than  he  realized.  His  hand  hurt  him  < 
very  much,  and  sitting  down  upon  a stool,  he  untied  the 
bandage.  The  blood,  so  long  repressed,  gushed  forth 
again  and  the  hand  was  very  much  swollen  around  the 
wound.  He  bathed  it  carefully  and  cooled  it  a long  while 
in  the  water.  When  he  drew  it  forth  again,  he  could; 
clearly  distinguish  the  imprint  of  Laurella’s  teeth.  “SheJ 
did  right,”  he  said.  “I  was  a brute  and  deserved  nothing j 
better.  I will  send  the  handkerchief  back  to  her  tomorrow. 


l’arrabiata. 


25 


Griuseppe,  for  she  shall  never  set  e3^es  on  me  again.” — 
iVnd  then  he  washed  out  the  handkerchief  and  spread  it  in 
the  sun  carefull}^,  after  he  had  bound  up  the  wound  again 
as  well  as  he  could  with  his  left  hand  and  his  teeth.  He 
then  threw  himself  upon  his  bed  and  closed  his  ej^es. 

The  bright  moonlight,  together  with  the  pain  in  his 
hand,  waked  him  out  of  a half  sleep.  He  had  just  sprung 
up  again  to  quiet  the  throbbing  in  water,  when  he  heard  a 
rustling  at  the  door.  “Who  is  there?”  he  called  and 
opened  it.  Laurella  stood  before  him. 

Without  making  aii}^  ado,  she  stepped  inside.  She 
pulled  off  a handkerchief  which  she  had  thrown  over  her 
head,  and  placed  a little  basket  on  the  table.  Then  she 
drew  a deep  breath. 

“You  have  come  to  get  ^^our  handkerchief?”  he  said. 
“You  might  have  saved  ^^ourself  the  trouble,  for  tomorrow 
morning  earl 3^  I should  have  asked  Giuseppe  to  take  it 
to  3^ou.” 

“It  is  not  for  the  handkerchief,”  she  quickl3^  rejoined. 
“ I have  been  up  on  the  mountain  to  get  some  herbs  for 
3^011  that  will  stop  the  bleeding.  Here  ! ” And  she  raised 
the  cover  of  the  little  basket. 

“Too  much  trouble,”  he  said,  without  an3^  harshness. 
“Too  much  trouble.  It  is  doing  better  alread3^,  much  bet- 
ter ; and  even  if  it  were  worse,  it  would  be  nothing  but 
what  I deserve.  But  what  are  3^011  doing  here  at  this  time 
of  night?  If  an}"  one  should  meet  3'Ou  here  ! You  know 
how  folks  will  gossip,  although  they  don’t  know  what  they 
are  talking  about.” 

“I  don’t  care  for  any  of  them,”  she  exclaimed  vehe- 
mentl3".  “ But  I will  see  3'our  hand  and  put  the  herbs  on 
it,  for  3"ou  can  not  do  it  with  3"our  left  hand.” 

“I  tell  3"ou  it  is  unnecessary.” 

“Just  let  me  see  it,  and  then  I’ll  believe  you.” 


26 


l’arrabiata. 


Without  further  words  she  grasped  the  hand  which 
could  not  ward  her  off,  and  unwound  the  bandage.  When 
she  saw  the  excessive  swelling,  she  started  and  exclaimed : 
“Jesus  Maria  ! ” 

“It  has  puffed  up  a little,”  he  said.  “That  will  pass 
awa}^  in  a day  or  so.” 

She  shook  her  head.  “ You  can’t  go  to  sea  for  a whole 
week  with  that  hand.” 

“ I think  I can  day  after  tomorrow.  What  differ- 
ence does  it  make  any  way?  ” 

In  the  mean  while  she  had  fetched  a ])asin  and  bathed 
the  wound  afresh,  which  he  suffered  like  a little  child. 
Then  she  laid  the  healing  leaves  of  the  herb  upon  it  which 
relieved  the  burning  at  once,  and  bound  up  the  hand  in  ^ 
strips  of  linen  which  she  had  also  brought  with  her.  When 
this  was  done,  he  said  : “I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you. ' 
And  listen,  if  you  want  to  do  me  another  favor,  forgive  met 
that  such  a crazy  fit  took  possession  of  me  today,  and  for- ' 
get  ever}  thing  I said  and  did.  I do  not  know  myself  how 
it  came  about.  You  have  never  given  me  the  slightest 
cause  for  anything  of  the  kind,  truly  you  never  have. " 
And  you  shall  never  hear  anything  again  from  me  tliat 
could  wound  you.”  ) 

“It  is  I who  should  apologize,”  she  interposed.  “I< 
ought  to  have  explained  myself  differently,  and  better,  and  ;; 
not  liave  aggravated  you  by  my  silent  ways.  And  then ; 
the  bite — ” 

“ It  was  necessary  for  self-defense,  and  high  time  that 
I slioidd  be  brought  to  my  senses.  And  as  I told  you,  it 
was  of  no  consequence.  Do  not  speak  of  apologizing. 
You  did  me  a service,  and  I thank  you  for  it.  And  now, 
go  home  to  sleep,  and  here — here  is  your  handkerchief  too, 
which  you  might  as  well  take  with  you  now.” 

He  handed  it  to  lier,  but  she  lingered,  and  seemed  to 


l’arrabiata. 


27 


be  having  some  inward  struggle.  At  last  she  said : “You 
lost  your  jacket  too  through  me,  and  I know  that  the 
mcne}^  you  got  for  the  oranges  was  in  the  pocket.  It  just 
occurred  to  me  on  my  way  home.  I can  not  make  it  up  to 
you  again,  for  we  do  not  own  so  much,  and  if  we  did,  it 
would  be  Mother’s.  But  I have  here  the  silver -cross  which 
that  painter  laid  on  the  table  for  me  the  last  time  he  was 
at  our  house.  I have  not  looked  at  it  since  then  and  do 
not  care  to  keep  it  any  longer  in  my  box.  If  you  will  sell 
it — it  is  surel}^  worth  a couple  of  piasters,  my  mother  said 
at  the  time — it  might  replace  the  money  you  have  lost, 
and  if  any  is  still  lacking — I will  try  to  earn  it  by  spinning 
nights  when  my  mother  is  asleep.” 

“I  shall  not  take  anything,”  he  said  curtly,  pushing 
back  the  bright  little  cross  which  she  had  taken  from  her 
pocket. 

“You  must  take  it,”  she  replied.  “Who  knows  how 
long  it  will  be  before  you  can  earn  anything  with  that 
hand.  There  it  lies  and  I shall  never  set  eyes  on  it  again.” 

“Then  throw  it  into  the  sea.” 

“ It  is  not  a present  I am  giving  you  ; it  is  no  more 
than  your  right,  and  what  is  due  you.” 

“ Eight?  I have  no  right  to  anything  from  3^011.  If 
you  ever  meet  me  after  this,  do  me  the  favor  not  to  look  at 
me,  so  that  I won’t  think  you  are  reminding  me  of  what  I 
owe  you.  And  now,  good  night,  and  let  this  be  the  last 
of  it.” 

He  put  the  handkerchief  into  the  basket  for  her,  and 
the  cross  with  it  and  shut  the  cover  down.  When  he  then 
glanced  up  and  into  her  face,  he  was  startled.  Big,  heav}^ 
tears  were  running  down  her  cheeks.  She  let  them  take 
their  course. 

“Maria  Santissima  !”  he  cried.  “Are  3^ou  sick?  You 
are  trembling  from  head  to  foot.” 


28 


l'arrabiata. 


“It  is  nothing,”  she  said.  “I  am  going  home,”  and 
she  staggered  to  the  door.  Her  fit  of  weeping  overcame 
her  there,  so  that  she  leaned  her  forehead  against  the  door- 
post and  sobbed  aloud  convulsivel3^  But  before  he  could 
go  to  her  to  detain  her,  she  turned  around  suddenly  and 
flung  her  arms  around  his  neck. 

“I  can  not  bear  it ! ” she  cried,  pressing  him  to  her 
heart  as  a dying  man  clings  to  life,  “I  can  not  listen  to 
3’ou,  saving  kind  things  to  me  and  bidding  me  go  with  all 
this  guilt  on  m}^  conscience.  Beat  me,  trample  on  me, 
curse  me  ! — or,  if  it  can  be  true  that  3’ou  love  me  still  after 
all  the  wicked  things  I have  done  to  3^011,  then  take  me 
and  keep  me  and  do  with  me  what  you  will.  But  don't 
send  me  awa3"  from  3^011  so  ! — ” Renewed,  violent  sobs 
interrupted  her.  1 

Speechless  he  held  her  a while  in  his  arms.  “You 
ask  if  I love  you  still?  ” he  cried  at  length.  “H0I3"  Mother  , 
of  God  ! do  3^011  imagine  that  all  the  blood  in  m3"  heart  has  - 
run  out  of  that  little  wound?  Don’t  3"ou  feel  it  hammering 
away  in  m3"  breast  as  if  it  wanted  to  get  out  and  go  to  you? 
If  3"ou  are  only  sa3ung  this  to  tr3^  me  or  because  3"ou  have  ; 
compassion  on  me,  then  go,  and  I will  forget  this  too.  < 
You  must  not  think  that  3-011  owe  me  ai^-thing  because  | 
you  know  what  I have  been  suffering  on  3"our  account.”  ^ 
“No,”  she  said  resolutely,  looking  up  eagerl3-  with  ? 
swimming  eyes  into  his  face.  “ I love  3-011,  and  to  tell  the  ' 
whole  truth,  I have  long  been  afraid  of  it  and  defied  it. 
And  now  I will  be  different,  for  I can  not  stand  it  ain" 
longer — not  to  look  at  3-011  when  3-011  pass  me  in  the  streets 
And  now  I will  kiss  3^011  too,  so  that  if  3-011  should  ever 
begin  to  doubt,  3-ou  can  sa3'  to  3-ourself,  ‘ She  kissed  me, 
and  Laurella  will  never  kiss  any  man  except  the  one  she  is 
going  to  marr3\’ ” • 

She  kissed  him  three  times  and  then  released  herself 


l’arrabiata. 


21) 


'from  his  embrace,  sa^bng  : “Grood  night,  my  dearest  one  ! 
iLie  down  and  go  to  sleep  again,  and  let  yonr  hand  get  well, 
land  don't  come  with  me,  for  I am  not  afraid  of  any  human 
j being  except  of  3^011  alone.” 

And  with  these  words  she  slipped  through  the  door- 
wa}'  and  vanished  in  the  shadow  of  the  wall.  But  he 
stood  a long  while  afterward  still  gazing  out  of  the  window 
across  the  sea,  above  which  the  stars  seemed  to  be  dancing. 

-x-  * 

* ' 

The  next  time  the  little  Padre  Cnrato  came  out  of  the 
confessional  where  Laiirella  had  been  kneeling  a long 
while,  he  was  silently  smiling  to  himself  “Who  would 
have  thought,”  he  was  sa3ing  to  himself,  “that  God  would 
so  soon  have  taken  pit}"  on  that  strange  little  heart?  And 
here  I have  been  reproaching  m3^self  for  not  having  ad m 011- 
I ished  that  wicked  spirit  of  obstinac}^  more  severel}  . But 
our  eyes  are  short-sighted  to  the  ways  of  Providence. 
Well,  God  bless  her,  and  let  me  live  to  see  the  dav  when 
Lanrella’s  oldest  lad  will  row  me  over  the  sea  in  his 
father’s  place  ! Well ! well ! 1’ Arrabiata ! ” 


.1> 

I 

i 

j 


BEPPE, 

THE  STAR-GAZER. 

[From  the  German  of  Paul  Heyse.] 


Copyright,  1885,  by  l.  schick. 


I N a city  of  Lombardy,  whose  name  shall  not  be  men- 
tioned here,  as  the  events  which  we  are  about  to  narrate 
occurred  there  not  very  long  ago,  there  dwelt  a married 
couple  with  an  only  daughter.  They  lived  in  such  seclusion 
that  the  husband,  who  kept  his  wife  and  child  so  cruelly 
immured  in  the  gloomy  house,  and  would  not  allow  them 
to  take  part  in  even  the  most  innocent  gayeties,  was  de- 
cried as  an  eccentric  and  tyrannical  man,  and  the  two  vic- 
tims of  his  arbitrary  humor  were  universally  commiserated. 
As  the  son  of  a wealthy  and  prominent  resident  of  the  city, 
who  had  educated  him  carefully  and  allowed  him  to  study  law 
according  to  his  own  wish,  he  early  attained  an  enviable  inde- 
pendence, and  stepped  into  his  father’s  law  business  upon 
the  death  of  the  latter.  When  only  twenty-four  years  of 
age,  he  married  the  most  beautiful  girl  in  town,  a magnifi- 
cent blonde,  with  a bright,  sunny  disposition,  named  Gio- 
conda.  A certain  calmness  and  moderation  which  had  been 
peculiar  to  him  as  a youth,  and  which  were  more  attract- 
ive in  the  eyes  of  mature  men  than  of  gay,  mirth-loving 
young  people,  still  clung  to  him  during  the  time  of  his  en- 
gagement. His  friends  and  neighbors  attributed  this  ab- 
stractedness, almost  bordering  on  melanchol}^,  to  his  fond- 
ness for  nocturnal  studies,  which  he  pursued  in  a little 
observatory  in  the  upper  story  of  his  father’s  house.  They 


6 


BEPPE,  THE  STAR-GAZEH. 


looked  for  a favorable  change  in  his  disposition  when  he 
should  be  once  settled  down  with  a charming  young  wife, 
whose  bright  eyes  would  gaze  upon  him  more  cheerily  and 
make  his  days  and  nights  far  pleasanter  than  the  distant, 
• silent  and  mysterious  lights  in  the  starry  heavens. 

Immediately  after  the  marriage  cerenion}^,  which  had 
to  be  private,  as  the  bridegroom  was  in  mourning  for  his 
father,  the  3^oung  couple  set  out  on  a journe}^,  and,  to  the 
astonishment  of  all  their  acquaintances,  were  so  much 
pleased  with  Paris,  that  for  a while  indeed  it  looked  as  if 
the  young  lawj^er  intended  to  take  up  his  residence  there, 
for  good ; however,  after  a j^ear  and  a half  they  returned 
to  their  home  with  a charming  little  creature  that  was  al- 
ready beginning  to  look  around  with  its  bright  eyes  ver}^ 
intelligently. 

Yet  the  ga^^er  atmosphere  of  France  and  its  capital 
failed  to  retain  the  married  pair  under  its  spell.  Doctor 
Griuseppe,  or  Beppe,  as  the  name  was  familiarly  abbre- 
viated, re-entered  his  house  with  the  same  calm  air  he  had 
worn  when  he  left  it,  only  his  face  was  a little  paler  and  the 
shadow  on  his  brow  a trifle  deeper.  And  as  for  the  young 
mother,  it  seemed  as  if  none  of  her  friends’  prophecies, 
that  she  would  brighten  up  the  home  and  by  her  gay 
youthfulness  make  her  husband  dislo3’al  to  his  solitary 
studies,  were  likel}"  to  be  fulfilled.  She  herself  seemed  to 
be  completel}'  transformed,  though  she  was  a very  beauti- 
ful woman  still,  and  in  the  e}"es  of  man}^  people  even  more 
attractive,  now  that  she  had  become  a mother.  But  neither 
was  she  ever  heard  to  laugh  or  make  meriy,  and  when  the 
little  face  of  her  Beppina — the  child  bore  its  father’s  name 
— smiled  at  her  with  the  irresistible  loveliness  of  a dawning 
soul,  instead  of  the  mother’s  radiant  answering  glance,  her 
e}^es  would  be  seen  to  sadden  and  overflow.  It  was  said 
that  Doctor  Beppe  had  laid  out  and  followed  a veiy  strict 


BEPPE,  THE  STAR-GAZER. 


1 


program  of  work  immediately  after  his  return,  and  had 
zealousl}^  resumed  his  long-negiected  practice.  His  office, 
where  he  received  his  clients,  his  private  room  and  an 
apartment  for  his  clerks,  took  up  the  whole  of  the  ground 
floor  of  the  house.  The  next  stoiy  contained  the  sitting- 
room,  dining  room  and  parlor,  the  latter  adorned  with  all 
sorts  of  elegant  things,  Parisian  furniture  and  different 
works  of  art,  onl}^  making  a useless,  dreaiy  displaj^,  as 
never  did  a meny  compaiy^  cross  its  threshold.  The  next 
floor  was  occupied  by  the  young  wife  with  her  baby,  the 
maid  and  the  old  man-servant,  who  had  grown  gray  in  all 
lo^mlt}"  and  honor  in  the  service  of  the  Doctor’s  deceased 
father.  Alcove  these  apartments,  into  which  the  master  of 
the  house  never  set  his  foot  except  to  cast  a glance  at  the 
cradle  once  a da}",  a room  in  the  Mansard  roof  had  been 
arranged  for  astronomical  purposes,  and  still  contained,  as 
in  the  Doctor’s  bachelor  days,  his  simple  iron  l^edstead,  a 
work  table  and  his  library. 

When  the  dinner-bell  rang,  which  was  not  until  six 
o’clock,  after  the  close  of  office  hours,  the  lawyer  ascended 
to  the  second  floor  and  seated  himself  with  his  beautiful 
wife  at  the  table,  where  they  were  waited  upon  by  old 
Aristides,  who  brought  the  dishes  from  the  kitchen  in  the 
upper  stor}".  The  meal  was  alwa3^s  abundant  and  served 
with  a certain  comfort  and  taste ; yet  it  never  lasted  more 
than  a brief  half-hour,  during  which  time  the  husband  and 
wife  carried  on  an  indifferent  conversation,  in  which  the 
old  servant  at  times  was  allowed  to  take  part.  The  master 
of  the  house  would  rise  first,  salute  his  wife  with  a slight 
waA^e  of  the  hand,  and  leave  her  alone  for  the  remainder  of 
the  evening,  to  repair  to  the  Cafe,  where  he  read  the  news- 
papers and  spent  an  hour  conversing  with  other  gentle- 
men. This  was  the  time  when  Signora  Gfioconda  also 
received  visits,  exclusively  from  ladies,  as  was  the  custom 


8 


BEPP^,  THE  STAR-GAZEB. 

of  the  place,  and  even  these  grew  less  numerous  from  3^eaT 
to  year,  as  she  exhibited  little  interest  in  the  petty  gossip 
of  the  neighborhood  and  other  local  happenings,  and  did 
not  return  her  calls  with  sufficient  energy  and  promptness. 
An  invited  guest  never  appeared  at  their  table  and  they 
themselves  never  accepted  any  invitations  to  the  houses  of 
their  friends,  the  young  wife  pleading  ill-health  as  an  ex- 
cuse, although  every  one  knew  that  her  confinement  had 
been  her  first  and  last  illness.  Her  more  intimate  friends 
would  then  venture  to  tease  her,  saying  this  was  only  a 
pretext  to  conceal  her  real  reason, — her  eagerness  to  share 
in  her  husband's  astronomical  observations,  as  they  were 
well  aware  that  the  light  in  the  observatory  often  burned 
all  night  long,  and  that  the  Doctor  always  ‘went  home  so 
punctually  from  the  Cafe  not  to  miss  a single  important 
constellation. 

Such  remarks  always  silenced  the  young  wife,  and  the 
color  in  her  cheeks  would  alternate  from  a vivid  carnation 
to  a ghastly  pallor.  She  had  no  friend  in  whom  she  might 
have  confided  more  freely ; her  mother  had  died  man}" 
years  before  she  had  become  engaged,  and  no  living  rela- 
tive was  left  to  her  but  an  only  sister,  a nun  in  quite  a 
distant  convent,  who  notwithstanding  the  lenient  customs 
of  her  order,  seldom  obtained  permission  to  visit  her  native 
city.  Thus  Signora  Gioconda  gradually  became  accus- 
tomed to  the  silent  atmosphere  in  her  husband's  house, 
and  when  asked  if  anything  were  lacking  to  complete  her 
happiness,  and  liow  she  liked  married  life,  she  invariably 
replied,  that  she  had  no  other  wash  than  to  retain  wdiat  she 
now  possessed,  to  be  able  to  make  her  husband  as  happ}" 
as  he  deserved,  and  to  see  her  child  keep  on  blooming  as 
slie  besought  her  Creator  eveiy  night.  At  first  this  was 
said  with  a sigh,  which  she  vainly  strove  to  repress.  But 
as  time  passed  on,  even  the  sigh  was  no  longer  lieard. 


BEPPE,  THE  STAR-GAZEB. 


9 


For  in  fact  her  maternal  supplications  seemed  to  have 
been  heard.  Little  Beppina  grew  up  so  lovely  and  hardy, 
that  she  never  gave  her  parents  the  least  anxiety,  and  even 
while  she  was  still  a child  in  arms,  utter  strangers  never 
wearied  of  watching  her  sparkling  eyes  and  dainty  laugh- 
ing mouth.  When  she  was  sixteen  years  of  age  she  pre- 
sented the  appearance  of  a fully  developed  woman,  well 
calculated  to  turn  the  heads  of  the  3^oung  men.  She  had 
not  so  tall  and  stately  a figure  as  her  beautiful  mother,  nor 
did  she  especially  resemble  the  latter,  except  in  tempera- 
ment and  disposition.  For  Signora  Gioconda  had  also 
been  noted  in  her  girlhood  for  her  bright  laugh  and  her 
somewhat  capricious  temper,  though  there  remained  so  lit- 
tle trace  of  either  in  the  quiet  lady.  Nor  did  the  daughter 
have  her  mother’s  soft,  fair  hair  but  a wealth  of  heavy 
brown  braids,  which  she  wore  wound  around  her  head  in 
their  natural  beauty,  without  attempting  to  disfigure  her- 
self with  the  tall  coiffure  and  the  immense  rolls  which  ugly 
style  was  at  that  time  the  latest  fashion.  Her  complexion 
had  been  rather  too  dark  in  her  childhood,  although  her 
lovel}"  dark  eyes,  the  carnation  of  her  lips  and  the  blood 
which  flew  to  her  cheeks  at  the  slightest  provocation,  made 
the  child  sparkle  with  plenty"  of  bright  vivacity  and  fire. 
As  time  passed  on,  her  skin  became  whiter,  with  a most 
delicate  suggestion  of  the  lustre  of  ivory,  and  3^et  the 
bluish-white  of  the  e^^e  in  which  the  iris  floated,  had  the 
same  liquid  brilliancy  as  in  her  childhood’s  da^^s,  and  from 
her  small  ear  that  looked  as  if  it  were  modelled  in  wax, 
hung  a red  coral  drop  in  a gold  band,  as  if  an  artist  had 
carefully  selected  the  tints  to  make  this  young  girl’s  face 
a ver}^  masterpiece.  She  was  well  aware  also,  of  her  love- 
liness, aud  seemed  to  have  no  greater  affliction  than  that 
the  opportunities  for  allowing  herself  to  be  admired,  were 
so  infrequent. 


10 


BEPPE,  THE  STAR-GAZER. 


When  she  went  with  her  mother  to  church  or  on  a 
shopping  expedition,  she  would  sometimes  cast  her  rapid 
glances  almost  beseechingly  around,  as  if  wondering 
whether  some  angel  from  Heaven  would  not  take  compas- 
sion on  her  and  cany  her  away  out  of  the  restrictions  and 
dreariness  of  her  home  and  the  monotonous  streets  of  the 
cit}",  out  into  the  great  gay  world.  The  wa}'  she  walked 
showed  that  she  would  have  preferred  to  run  or  fl}" ; her 
motions  indicated  a joy  in  mere  existence,  and  the  high 
spirits  of  youth  repressed  only  with  difficulty,  and  even  in 
church,  when  she  knelt  on  her  little  stool,  she  could  not 
keep  her  head  quietly  bowed  upon  her  pra^^er  book  more 
tlian  five  seconds  at  a time,  but  was  peeping  now  at  the 
pillars,  and  now  at  the  towering  dome,  as  if  she  were  emy- 
ing  the  swallows  that  darted  noiselessly  to  and  fro  among 
the  stone  cornices  and  rafters. 

The  poor  child  certainly  was  not  to  blame  because  ^ 
she  longed  for  more  gayety  and  liberty  than  fell  to  her  lot 
under  the  paternal  roof  The  apartments,  which  were 
almost  as  silent  as  a cloister,  were  never  entered  by  any 
young  people,  wuth  the  exception  of  the  daughters  of  a 
few  neighboring  families,  and  they  too  were  only  allowed  ^ 
to  converse  with  Beppina  on  suitable  subjects  in  her  , 
mother’s  presence.  On  Sunda3^s  and  holidays  when  the  ' 
weather  was  inviting.  Signor  Beppe  escorted  his  wife  into  ! 
the  green  fields  outside  the  city  and  the  daughter  was  i 
allowed  to  follow  along  behind  them,  beside  old  Cassandra, 
the  maid.  Once  in  a while  too  the}"  had  a box  at  the 
theatre,  when  some  opera  was  to  be  performed.  On  such 
occasions  the  young  girl,  who  longed  to  sit  where  her 
sparkling  e}^es  would  have  reflected  the  radiance  of  the  in- 
numerable gas-jets,  had  to  sit  far  back  in  the  shadow,  and 
many  a time  she  shed  tears  of  sorrow  and  envy  in  secret, 
wlien  she  saw  her  girl  friends  in  other  boxes,  surrounded 


BEPPE,  THE  STAR-GAZER.  ll 

by  young  gentlemen  in  full  dress,  smiling,  casting  glances, 
and  carr3dng  on  a ver}"  eloquent  b^^-play  Avitli  their  fans. 

Now  and  then,  when  her  mother  had  surprised  her  in 
some  sudden  fit  of  passionate  dejection,  she  relieved  her 
heart  b}'  complaints  that  she  was  more  strictl}^  secluded 
than  aii}^  of  her  acquaintances.  Then  her  mother  would 
clasp  her  gently  in  her  arms,  kiss  away  her  tears  and  tiy 
to  soothe  her,  sa3dng  that  her  father  wished  it  so,  and  what 
he  wished  was  alwa^^s  the  best  for  her,  nor  would  she  stay 
at  home  forever.  Afterwards  she  might  dispose  of  her  life 
as  seemed  most  agreeable  and  right  to  her.  Signora  Gio- 
conda  was  never  able  to  sa}^  things  of  this  kind  without 
silent  sighs  and  finally  mingling  her  own  tears  with  those 
of  her  child.  these  means  however,  the  secret  senti- 
ment of  a vague  rage  against  her  father  in  the  girl’s 
heart  was  onl}^  strengthened.  She  felt,  moreover,  that 
neither  was  her  mother’s  happiness  complete,  that  her 
father  seemed  to  feel  but  little  gratitude  toward  his  loyal 
and  devoted  wife  for  having  borne  him  such  a lovel}"  child, 
and  although  he  never  addressed  an  unkind  word  to  her, 
}^et  at  the  same  time,  neither  did  he  ever  utter  a heart-felt 
or  tender  one,  at  least  in  the  presence  of  his  daughter.  To 
this  daughter  too,  although  she  was  and  remained  his  only 
child,  he  showed  but  little  of  a father’s  tenderness ; her 
prettiest  conceits  were  scarcely  rewarded  with  a smile,  her 
little  accomplishments,  of  singing  and  piano-playing,  were 
onl^"  moderatel}"  praised,  and  at  evening  when  she  bade 
him  good  night  before  retiring,  he  touched  her  brow  with 
his  grave  lips  in  such  a cold  and  abstracted  wa}^,  that  it 
sometimes  made  her  shiver  from  head  to  foot. 

He  had  selected  the  best  teachers  for  her,  and  consid- 
ered the  superintendence  of  the  progress  of  her  studies  a 
serious  matter.  He  also  showered  upon  her  numberless 
prett}'  things,  upon  the  slightest  pretext,  and  her  little 


12 


BEPPE,  THE  STAR-GAZER. 


room  in  the  third  story,  adjoining  the  sleeping-room  which 
slie  shared  with  her  mother,  was  the  envy  of  all  her  friends, 
who  always  declared  that  Princess  Margherita  herself 
could  not  have  more  elegant  furniture  or  daintier  fixings. 
Yet  she  seemed  to  herself  with  it  all  like  a bird  in  a gilded 
cage,  and  grew  to  hate  her  father  only  the  more  intensely 
on  this  account,  as  this  kindness  and  generosity  on  his 
part  made  her  conscience  accuse  her  of  black  ingratitude 
in  that  she  was  discontented  in  spite  of  it  all  and  could  not 
help  loving  less  and  less  the  author  of  her  secret  wretched- 
ness as  the  days  passed  on. 

This  state  of  things  continued  on  into  her  sixteenth 
3^ear,  and  to  her  mother’s  increasing  sorrow,  it  became  so^ 
visibly  intensified,  that  frequently  the  girl  was  no  longer 
successful  in  treating  her  father  pleasantly  and  concealing' 
her  consuming  resentment.  The  gentleman,  so  grave,  so^ 
busily  occupied,  and  absorbed  in  his  own  affairs,  seemed? 
not  to  take  the  slightest  notice  of  this  slight  convulsion  of 
a stormy  nature,  this  gloomy  hatred  of  a passionate  temper. 
He  went  on  his  way  tranquilly  as  before,  purposety  avoid- 
ing coming  to  any  explanation  with  his  wife,  who  had 
more  than  once  made  up  her  mind  to  speak  to  her  husband' 
about  Beppina  and  the  duty  of  seeking  some  suitablei 
matrimonial  alliance  for  her. 

Suddenly,  without  her  mother’s  having  taken  any; 
steps  in  the  matter,  a change  came  over  the  young  girl’s 
spirit,  which  made  the  former  more  anxious  tlian  the  pre- 
vious embittered  wretchedness. 

All  at  once  Beppina,  who  for  a long  time  had  scarcely 
sung  a note,  was  heard  singing  her  favorite  songs  again, 
even  when  she  was  not  at  the  piano,  but  seated  alone 
in  lier  little  room  with  her  needle-work.  Sometimes  when 
tlie  three  were  sitting  at  breakfast  or  dinner  she  would 
break  out  into  a merry  huigh,  and  if  asked  the  reason| 


BEPPE,  THE  STAR-GAZER.  13 

would  try  to  excuse  herself  with  some  very  inade- 
quate explanation.  The  flowers  which  she  had  raised  on 
her  balcony  and  neglected  only  too  often,  were  now  tended 
with  the  utmost  solicitude,  and  many  an  hour  was  spent 
by  her  sitting  among  them,  in  a little  rocking-chair,  with  a 
book  in  her  delicate  hands,  which,  in  fact,  served  simply  as 
a blind  for  an  abstracted  revery.  The  house  stood  in  a 
lonely  quarter  of  the  city,  among  the  old  mansions  of  de- 
cayed noble  families,  opposite  a palazzo  which  had  been  un- 
occupied for  years.  The  young  gallants  had  found  the  dis- 
tance too  great  to  come  hither  solel  y for  the  sake  of  a pair  of 
black  eyes,  particular!}^  as  Doctor  Beppe’s  daughter  was  sup- 
posed to  be  almost  as  unapproachable  as  her  aunt,  the  nun. 
So  the  parents  had  not  at  first  any  suspicion  when  the  bal- 
cony began  to  flourish  again  and  became  the  favorite  resort 
of  their  daughter.  A mother’s  eyes,  however,  are  not  easily 
to  be  deceived.  Signora  Gioconda  was  the  more  firmly 
convinced  that  there  had  come  to  her  daughter  an  experi- 
ence inevitably  decreed  by  Nature  to  tlie  hearts  of  most 
sixteen  year  old  maidens,  as  she  had  observed  during  some 
of  their  walks  of  late,  a young  man  who  had  kept  his 
ardent  gaze  fastened  upon  her  Beppina  with  a very  peculiar 
expression,  and  seemed  to  have  taken  note  of  the  hour 
when  they  went  to  mass,  and  when  the  party  of  four  were 
in  the  habit  of  leaving  the  house  on  Sundays. 

On  one  of  these  afternoons  the  father  also  was  obliged 
to  notice  the  appearance  of  this  young  man,  who  was  evi- 
dently a stranger.  Signora  Gioconda  felt  from  a motion 
of  his  arm  that  he  was  strongly  affected  by  some  painful 
thought,  and  as  she  herself  felt  many  distressing  recollec- 
tions revive  each  time  she  met  the  young  man,  she  could 
not  force  herself  to  utter  a single  wwd  to  her  husband  in 
regard  to  her  previous  observations.  She  cast  a rapid 
glance  back  at  Beppina  who  was  walking  along  with  a 


14 


6EPPB,  THE  STAR-GAZER. 


radiant  countenance  as  if  transfigured.  But  when  the 
young  stranger  passed  by  arm-in-arm  with  a companion, 
apparently  without  paying  any  attention  to  her,  the  mother 
refiected  that  she  might  easily  make  the  evil  worse,  if  she 
should  directly  induce  her  daughter  to  confess  a sentiment 
to  her,  of  which  her  young  heart  might  not  yet  perhaps 
have  rendered  any  account  to  itself. 

Thus  the  following  week  elapsed  without  anything 
further  occurring,  with  the  exception  of  the  regular  meet- 
ings on  their  waj'  to  church.  When  the  father  remai’ked 
the  Sunday  after,  that  their  walk  would  have  to  be  given 
up  for  that  day,  as  an  important  lawsuit  would  prevent  his 
celebrating  the  holiday,  his  wife  cast  a scrutinizing  glance j 
at  her  daughter,  whose  face  however,  instead  of  the  ill-^ 
humored  disappointment  she  had  feared,  expressed  a per-,j 
fectly  serene  cheerfulness.  The  anxious  mother’s  heart 
was  soothed  with  the  hope  that  she  might  have  been  mis-.| 
taken  after  all,  and  that  this  new  cloud  over  her  life,  which' 
aside  from  this,  had  not  been  the  very  brightest,  might  pass 
harmlessly  over.  Sister  Perpetua,  the  nun,  happened  to 
be  there  on  a visit  just  at  this  time,  and  was  present  at  the^ 
dinner  table.  After  the  meal  was  ended,  Signora  GiocondOi 
and  her  sister  withdrew  to  the  sitting-room  to  discuss  coin 
fidentiallj"  various  family  matters.  The  father  went  down' 
stairs  to  his  legal  documents,  Cassandra  was  taking  her  nap 
in  the  kitchen,  Aristides  was  clearing  the  table,  and  Bep-i 
pina  flew  up  to  her  little  room  singing  a barcarolle,  to  pass 
the  sultry  hours  in  the  shade  of  the  flowers  on  her  balcony. 

* * 

* 

The  street  was  even  more  quiet  and  deserted  than 
usual.  The  gra}’^  palazzo  with  its  closed  Yenetian  blinds 
looked  as  ghostly  as  some  haunted  mansion ; a white  cat 


BEPPE,  THE  STAR-GAZER. 


15 


was  lying  on  a window-sill  in  the  house  next  below,  and  the 
breeze  had  died  away  so  completely  that  the  creature’s 
snoring  could  be  heard  at  long  intervals.  Farther  on, 
at  the  corner  of  the  street,  in  front  of  the  little  Cafe,  sat 
the  onh’  customer,  a very  old  man,  who  was  enjoying  his 
noon-day  nap  over  his  newspaper,  and  opposite  him  the 
little  waiter  asleep  in  a rickety  cane-chair,  while  the  sun 
poured  through  the  great  holes  in  the  awning  that  had  been 
let  down  to  its  fullest  extent,  and  innumerable  flies  were 
buzzing  in  the  sunbeams.  The  few  stores  in  the  neighbor- 
hood were  closed,  not  on  account  of  the  observance  of  the 
Sabbath,  that  being  a thing  unknown  there,  but  because  it 
seemed  quite  hopeless  to  expect  any  customers  to  stray  in 
this  direction  at  this  hour  and  on  such  a day. 

In  spite  of  the  oppressive  desolation  and  solitude,  how- 
ever, which  cast  their  ghostly  breath  about  the  law3^er’s 
house,  a 3^oung  face,  rosier  than  the  pinks  and  pomegranates 
that  were  growing  in  the  jars  near  b3",  could  be  seen  on  the 
balcon3'  in  the  third  stoiy,  peeping  through  the  railing. 
Only  the  morning  sunshine  reached  the  house.  A cooler 
place  for  a siesta  could  not  be  found  than  up  there  in 
front  of  Beppina’s  ro3"al  little  room.  She  was  reclining  in 
her  rocking-chair,  a carnation  she  had  just  picked  held  to 
her  delicate  nose,  whose  white,  finel3-cut  nostrils  were 
dilating  gentl3"  as  she  inhaled  the  fragrance.  Resting  on 
her  lap  in  the  other  hand,  was  a little  red  leather  portfolio, 
in  which  from  her  childhood  she  had  alwa3"s  kept  her 
secret  papers,  for  even  the  most  carefull3-reared  maidens 
usuall3^  possess  something  of  this  kind.  The  little  key  to 
this  she  alwa3-s  wore  around  her  neck,  together  with  a 
medallion  containing  a picture  of  the  immaculate  Virgin, 
that  had  been  blessed  b3"  the  Pope.  Today,  however,  she 
had  spread  out  all  of  her  private  documents  fearlessly  on 
her  lap ; for  upon  entering  her  room  she  had  locked  the 


16 


BEPPE,  THE  STAR-GAZER. 


door  behind  her,  and  besides,  she  was  safe  from  all  in- 
trusion, as  both  of  her  parents  were  occupied.  From  time 
to  time  her  rapid,  sparkling  gaze  rested  on  one  of  the 
written  sheets,  but  not  for  the  purpose  of  reading  what 
was  written  there  in  a flowing,  beautiful  hand.  She  knew 
every  word  by  heart ; it  was  only  to  convince  herself  that 
she  did  really  possess  these  treasures  and  had  not  per- 
chance only  dreamed  them.  Each  time  she  took  one  of  j 
the  little  sheets  in  her  hand,  the  rose-color  in  her  cheeks  i 
grew  deeper  and  her  lips  quivered  with  a charming  expres- 
sion, half  smiling  and  half  bashful,  so  that  the  whole  row 
of  firm  little  teeth  was  revealed,  as  if  they  were  just  ready 
to  bite  into  some  tempting  fruit.  But  then  she  was  soon 
gazing  anxiousl}^  again  through  the  balustrade  down  into  ■ 
the  long,  deserted  street,  her  foot  beating  an  impatient  | 
tattoo,  a shadow  of  anxiety  and  displeasure  resting  on  her 
laughing  eyes — the  next  moment  it  seemed  as  if  a slight 
shock  convulsed  her  whole  frame,  and  her  chair  began  to 
rock  as  if  it  would  lose  its  balance.  She  quickly  recov- 
ered her  composure,  however.  She  even  cowered  down  i 
into  the  cushions  and  bent  her  head  in  order  not  to  be  per-  ^ 
ceived  from  below.  For  down  yonder,  still  quite  a dis- j 
tance  away,  he  was  advancing,  he,  at  sight  of  whom  lierj 
young  blood  surged  more  rapidly  from  her  heart  into  her ' 
cheeks.  He  could  not  have  discovered  her  yet,  behind  the^| 
rose-bushes  and  surrounded  by  her  airy  barricade,  although  i 
from  a distance  he  had  cast  a falcon-keen  glance  at  the  old 
house.  But  she  could  see  him  distinctly,  his  handsome 
face,  somewhat  haughty  and  self-satisfied,  with  the  black 
mustache,  his  white  neck  only  loosely  confined  by  a light 
silk  neck-tie,  every  detail  in  his  immaculate  attire.  He 
was  holding  his  straw  hat  in  one  hand,  so  that  his  curly, 
hair  looked  all  the  blacker  in  contrast  with  his  white  fore-^ 

L 

head;  in  the  other  hand  he  was  canying  a light  cane  with*: 


BEPPE,  THE  STAR-GAZER. 


17 


which  he  touched  the  pavement  now  and  then,  keeping 
time  to  one  of  Verdi’s  melodies,  which  he  was  humming 
carelessly  to  himself.  Taking  all  in  all,  he  was  a fasci- 
nating young  fellow,  although  perhaps  rather  more  fasci- 
nating in  the  eyes  of  the  young  girls  than  of  their  mothers’, 
who  have  learned  that  the  words  which  are  written  in  the 
Book  of  Fate  cannot  always  be  set  to  an  operatic  air. 

Having  reached  the  house,  he  stopped  and  looked  up 
more  earnestly,  indeed,  with  almost  defiant  audacity, 
itoward  the  balcony.  His  face  clouded  over  when  he  still 
failed  to  discover  what  he  was  looking  for.  He  caughed 
once  or  twice,  but  there  was  no  movement  behind  the  iron 
railing  of  the  hanging  garden.  Then  he  seized  the  knocker 
on  the  closed  door,  and  after  holding  it  for  a moment  hesi- 
tatingly in  his  hand,  he  at  length,  with  sudden  decision, 
struck  it  three  times  against  the  metal  plate. 

At  this  moment  a red  carnation  fell  down  from  above 
just  at  his  feet,  and  a girl’s  sweet,  smothered  laugh  reached 
his  ears  through  the  quiet  air.  A low  exclamation  escaped 
him  in  response,  he  stooped  for  the  fiower,  but  had  barely 
time  to  pick  it  up  and  conceal  it  in  his  breast-pocket,  be- 
fore the  door  opened  and  the  haggard  countenance  of  old 
Aristides  appeared  at  the  threshold  to  inquire  whom  the 
gentleman  wished  to  see. 

Then  the  door  closed  again  behind  the  visitor,  and  the 
street,  disturbed  in  its  Sunday  calm  by  this  short  episode, 
^elapsed  into  the  old  brooding  silence. 

* * 

' * 

Up  there  on  the  balcony,  however,  all  calm  was  at 
in  end.  The  solitary  child  had  only  crouched  down  again 
n her  chair  for  a moment  when  she  heard  the  servant’s 
v^oice,  as  if  he  could  discover  her  from  the  threshold  of  the 


18 


BEPPE,  THE  STAR-GAZER. 


house-door,  and  suspect  that  she  herself  was  concerned  in 
this  visit.  Then  she  sprang  up  as  nimbly  as  a kitten, 
gathered  up  the  papers  which  had  slipped  out  of  her  port- 
folio when  she  threw  down  the  flower,  and  after  carefully 
locking  up  her  treasure  once  more,  carried  it  back  into  her 
room  and  concealed  it  in  what  she  considered  a secret 
drawer  of  her  bureau,  because  she  was  accustomed  to  place 
a large  box  of  ribbons  and  laces  in  front  of  it.  But  she  was 
possessed  with  a spirit  of  unrest,  and  went  from  her  little 
writing-desk  to  her  mirror,  from  there  to  a small  hanging 
book-case  containing  nothing  but  books  into  which  she 
never  looked;  her  father  had  himself  selected  them  for 
her  and  there  were  no  novels  among  them ; then  she 
stroked  the  coat  of  a stuffed  pet  dog  which  she  had  idolized 
as  a child  and  whose  death  she  had  mourned  with  floods ; 
of  tears ; his  sightless  glass  eyes,  however,  as  she  looked 
into  them  now,  struck  her  for  the  first  time  as  some- 
thing uncanny. 

She  presently  stepped  out  on  the  balcony  again  and 
leaned  over  the  railing  with  folded  arms.  Yet  everything 
about  her  was  disturbed  as  by  an  inward  tempest,  every 
fibre  was  trembling,  the  little  ringlets  on  her  neck  were^ 
quivering,  although  the  air  was  still  utterly  motionless,  her ; 
teeth  were  gnawing  the  rounded  lips,  her  little  feet  were^ 
mechanically  tapping  the  stone  floor  of  the  balcony  and| 
her  bosom  was  heaving  so  violently  that  the  pomegranate; 
tree  she  was  leaning  against  rocked  to  and  fro,  as  if  its 
branches  were  shaken  by  a sirocco.  Again  she  listened 
through  the  locked  door  to  the  sounds  in  the  house.  But 
what  could  she  hope  to  hear  when  the  visit  was  intended 
for  her  father?  To  be  sure,  if  everything  came  about  as 
she  wished  and  expected,  the  silence  below  would  soon  1)6 
ended,  footsteps  would  come  up  the  stairs  and  approach 
her  door,  her  father’s  measured  trecid — or  perhaps,  if  the 


BEPPE,  THE  STAR-GAZER. 


19 


Madonna  were  particularly  gracious,  a younger,  more  im- 
pulsive step,  which  would  leap  up  three  stairs  at  a time. 

And  still  the  silence  continued. 

At  length  she  slipped  away  from  the  door  and  out  to 
the  flowers  again.  And  this  time  her  presentiments  had 
not  deceived  her.  Hardly  was  she  leaning  again  upon  the 
balustrade,  when  the  outside  door  below  opened  and  closed 
again  almost  immediatel}^  But  the  one  who  had  come 
out  stood  motionless.  In  what  state  of  mind  he  might  be 
she  could  not  at  once  discover,  as  her  balcony  projected 
directly  above  the  front  entrance  and  the  wider  balcony  of 
the  second  floor  lay  beneath  it.  Finally  the  individual  at 
[the  door  moved,  took  a few  steps  down  the  street,  stopped 
lagain  and  clenched  his  fist. 

I “Zanetto  ! ” was  whispered  from  above. 

The  young  fellow  hastily  turned  his  head  and  looked 
up  toward  the  balcon}^  His  face  bore  the  traces  of  violent 
iexcitement,  drops  of  perspiration  were  standing  on  his 
forehead,  his  lips  were  pale  and  compressed.  The  charm 
of  his  fresh,  audacious  youth  had  suddenly  departed. 

‘‘Zanetto!  ” the  voice  from  the  balcony  repeated.  It 
seemed  like  an  attempt  to  awaken  a sleeper,  for  he  cast 
such  dreamy  glances  around,  as  if  he  knew  not  where 
he  was. 

“ Grood  night ! ” he  called  at  last  in  a stifled  voice. 
“Farewell,  Beppina ! Go  into  a convent!  May  the 
Madonna  be  with  3^0 u ! ” 

This  was  accompanied  b}-  a gesture  signifjdng  that 
everything  was  at  an  end  and  all  hope  lost.  The  next  in- 
stant, however,  a capricious  sort  of  defiance  seemed  to  have 
taken  possession  of  the  young  man’s  soul.  He  raised  his 
hat,  swung  it  in  the  air  once  or  twice  and  set  it  on  one  side 
of  his  head.  Then  putting  his  hand  into  his  pocket,  he 


20 


BEPPE,  THE  STAR-GAZER. 


produced  the  red  carnation,  kissed  it  three  times  with  ex- 
aggerated, burlesque  pathos,  and  then  picked  it  to  pieces 
and  scattered  the  leaves  to  the  four  winds. 

Just  then  a man  passed  with  a lighted  cigar  in  his 
mouth.  Zanetto  stepped  up  to  him,  and  touching  his  hat, 
asked  for  a light,  then  sending  a cloud  of  blue  smoke  from 
his  cigarette  before  him,  he  left  the  house  with  slow,  indif- 
ferent steps  and  without  once  casting  his  e3^es  back  up 
toward  the  balcoii}^,  from  which  a 3^oung  face  was  gazing 
after  him  in  bewildered  despair. 

What  had  happened?  What  had  they  been  saying  to 
each  other?  Was  this  the  same  sky  which  had  looked 
down  into  this  quiet  street  half  an  hour  ago?  Were  these 
the  same  flowers  behind  which  she  had  concealed  her 
blushes,  her  impatience,  her  roguish  delight  in  being  so  near 
her  lover  and  invisible?  Had  he  actually'  intended  to  say 
that  all  was  at  an  end  forever?  And  that  it  was  not  of 
much  more  importance  to  him  than  the  ashes  of  his  ciga- 
rette or  the  remains  of  a flower  he  had  picked  to  pieces? 
But  this  was  surely  impossible  ! — this  could  not  be  the  end 
of  a happiness  on  which  she  herself  had  been  living  for 
weeks,  as  the  one  thing  which  she  considered  a truth  and  a - 
realit}^,  of  whose  imperishableness  each  day  had  onl^^  the; 
more  strongly  convinced  her ! 

Her  wretched  little  brain  threatened  to  burst,  her  still ; 
more  wretched  sixteen  year  old  little  heart  all  at  once  lay 
as  if  paralyzed,  as  heavy  as  some  dead  thing  in  her  breast, 
devoid  of  feeling ; it  seemed  to  have  ceased  beating ; her 
eyes  were  burning  without  being  cooled  b}^  a tear,  her  teeth 
were  softly  chattering.  She  sank  down  in  her  chair  like 
one  in  a swoon,  and  yet  with  full  consciousness,  and,  press- 
ing her  hands  to  her  face,  lay  in  a pitifully  dazed  state, 
without  a distinct  sensation  or  a single  coherent  thought 


BEPPE,  THE  STAR-GAZER.  21 

but  the  one:  “He  did  not  even  turn  around  to  look  back 
atme!— 

* * 

* 

Suddenly  she  heard  a knock  at  her  door  and  started 
up.  She  could  not  look  any  one  in  the  lace.  If  her  mother 
wished  to  see  her,  she  would  have  to  be  patient  and 
imagine  that  her  child  had  fallen  asleep  in  the  sultry  after- 
noon air.  But  the  knock  was  repeated  and  presently  she 
heard  her  lather’s  A^oice  saying:  “Beppina,  open  the 
door!” — her  father,  whom  of  all  people  in  the  world  she 
least  wished  to  meet.  She  stood  leaning  against  the 
balcony  door,  holding  her  breath,  hoping  lie  might  go 
away  soon  if  the  silence  continued.  However  he  knocked 
again,  saying  : “I  know  that  you  are  in  there  ! Open  the 
door  ! ” — in  his  usual  firm,  quiet  voice,  which  no  one  could 
resist.  She  pressed  her  little  hand  to  her  heart ; her  face 
grew  dark,  almost  malignant,  she  drew  a deep  breath,  like 
one  coming  to  a dilRcult  decision,  and  then  walked  slowly 
to  push  back  the  bolt. 

But  she  did  not  look  at  her  father,  as  he  stepped  into 
the  room,  defiantly  as  she  had  intended  to  resist  him. 
Had  he  rushed  in  angrily  and  overwhelmed  her  with  re- 
proaches, she  would  perhaps  have  found  courage  to  openly 
oppose  his  tyrannical  will,  which  made  her  so  wretched. 
But  he  entered  very  quietly,  as  was  his  way,  when  he 
wished  to  inquire  about  her  studies  or  to  bring  her  a new 
book.  His  face,  which  to  be  sure,  she  did  not  see,  was 
somewhat  paler  and  sadder  than  usual.  It  eA^en  looked  as 
if  he  had  been  shedding  tears  ; but  then  his  eyes  had  been 
of  late  weakened  and  slightly  inflamed  from  his  excessive 
reading  and  his  nightl}'  study  of  the  heavens. 

He  paced  up  and  down  the  little  room  a few  times, 
while  she  stood  with  her  head  sunk  on  her  breast,  and  her 


22 


BEPPE,  THE  STAR-GAZER. 


hands  upon  the  table  for  support,  as  if  she  were  dreaming 
all  alone.  His  face  was  turned  away  from  her ; he  passed 
his  hand  through  his  luxuriant  hair,  which  was  beginning 
to  turn  gray  at  the  ends,  though  there  were  no  traces  of 
age  in  his  black  beard,  that  made  his  not  reall}^  handsome, 
but  intelligent  and  kindly  face,  look  still  paler.  “ Beppina,” 
said  he  at  length,  stopping  before  the  door  of  the  balcony, 
“you  know  without  doubt  why  I have  come  to  you.  Some 
one  has  been  with  me  with  whom  I have  spoken  today  for 
the  first  and  last  time.  He  will  never  enter  this  house 
again  while  I occupy  it.  But  as  he  has  found  means  to 
approach  my  daughter  without  m}^  knowledge,  to  exchange 
letters  with  her,  perhaps  more  than  this — ” 

He  paused  and  looked  at  her.  She  shook  her  head 
earnestly  but  still  scarcely  perceptibly,  and  stood  as  if 
chained  to  the  spot. 

“I  am  not  going  to  reproach  you,”  continued  her 
father.  “What  has  happened  grieves  me,  because  it  must 
give  you  pain,  which  I would  gladly  have  spared  you,  but 
which  will  be  perhaps  as  wholesome  as  it  is  unavoidable. 
If  you  had  had  more  confidence  in  your  father — ” 

She  was  trembling  from  head  to  foot  with  inward  ex- 
citement, but  her  lips  were  only  pressed  more  firmly 
together. 

“Or  in  your  mother — you  would  have  opened  ^^our 
heart  to  us  at  the  first  of  these  secret  messages,  and  we 
should  have  told  you  that  3^ou  must  not ' accept  a second 
letter,  nor  cherish  any  hopes  and  wishes  that  could  never 
be  fulfilled.” 

The  young  girl  made  a powerful  effort  to  break  the 
spell  which  her  father’s  presence  cast  upon  her. 

“Why  not?  ” came  almost  inaudibly  from  her  lips. 

“ Because — because  it  is  impossible  1 Beppina — my 
poor  child — hard  as  it  may  be  for  you,  believe  me,  it  ha§ 


BEPPE,  THE  STAR-GAZER.  23 

not  been  easy  for  3'our  father  to  cause  you  pain.  If  I have 
been  obliged  to  do  so,  it  was  because  of  very  serious  and 
inexorable  reasons,  which  I cannot  impart  to  j'ou,  I assure 
you.  I know  that  you  have  at  times  borne  me  ill-will, 
drinking  that  I needlessly  refused  y’ou  this  thing  or  that, 
to  which  3’ou  thought  you  had  a right,  or  that  you  would 
have  liked.  Perhaps  because  I am  rather  chary  of  words 
and  caresses,  you  have  doubted  my  heart.  Much  has  hap- 
pened to  me,  my  child,  to  render  me  gloomy  and  silent.  I 
know  there  are  some  fathers  with  whom  their  daughters 
are  better  satisfied  than  you  are  with  yours,  who  laugh  and 
joke  with  them  and  let  them  have  their  own  way.  I blame 
no  one  for  this,  though  for  my  part,  I act  as  I must  and 
can.  Perhaps  you  will  one  day  see  that  it  was  for  your 
good  that  I allowed  j'ou  less  liberty  than  other  girls  have. 
I know  your  nature ; you  are  like  a sapling  that  has  grown 
up  rapidly  in  very  rich  soil ; it  must  be  carefully  tended  and 
bound  to  a firm  stake,  if  it  is  to  escape  being  bruised  over- 
night by  some  sudden  gust  of  wind.  A few  years  more 
and  I can  hope  to  let  you  do  as  you  choose  without  any 
dano'er.  Will  vou  trust  in  me  a little  longer,  mj'  child, 
and  believe  that  I have  your  welfare  at  heart?  ” 

No  answer  came  from  the  young  girl,  who  seemed  lost 
in  thought;  her  eyes  gazed  fixedly  at  the  floor,  and  she 
appeared  not  to  see  the  hand  her  father  held  out  to  her. 

Again  he  took  a few  steps,  as  if  to*  give  her  time  to 
consider.  As  she  maintained  an  obstinate  silence,  he  said 
in  a somewhat  more  emphatic  tone  : 

“Over  your  thoughts  and  feelings  I have  unfortu- 
nately no  control ; today  is  not  the  first  time  that  I have 
despaired  of  influencing  your  heart,  and  perhaps  I am 
partly  to  blame  for  this,  as  I lack  the  power  of  winning 
your  confidence.  But  over  your  actions,  Beppina,  over 
your  conduct  I have  full  authority,  and  this  I shall  not  re- 


24 


BEPPE,  THE  STAR-GAZER. 


sign.  Henceforth  there  must  not  be  the  slightest  inter- 
course between  yourself  and  this  young  man.  I know  not 
how  conscientiously  he  will  keep  his  promise  to  avoid  3^011 
personally,  as  well  as  to  abstain  from  all  letters  and  verbal 
messages  to  you.  Cassandra  will  leave  the  house  this  very 
day,  if  it  turns  out  as  I surmise,  that  she  was  the  go- 
between.  But  3^ou  must  promise  me,  my  child,  that  3^ou 

will  never  send  another  written  or  spoken  word  to  this 

Zanetto,  although  3^011  cannot  banish  him  from  3^our 
thoughts  immediately,  that  you  will  never  seek  an3"  more 
opportunities  to  see  him,  and  if  chance  should  bring  about 
a meeting  with  him,  that  you  will  turn  3'Our  eyes  awa3" 
from  him,  as  if  he  were  a perfect  and  perpetual  stranger. 
Will  3^ou  promise  me  this,  my  poor  little  daughter?  ” 

Suddenly,  as  if  she  wished  to  shake  off  her  fetters,  she 
turned  her  face  toward  her  father,  who  had  laid  his  hand 
upon  her  shoulder.  For  a moment  she  looked  him  straight  ? 
in  the  e3"e,  her  bosom  heaving  painfull3^,  her  colorless  lips 
quivering. 

“ No  ! she  ejaculated  in  a low  tone.  “ Kill  me  ! cast 
me  into  a dark  dungeon ! I will  never,  never  renounce 
him  ! I — I could  not,  even  if  I would  ! ” ^ 

Then  she  dropped  her  eyes  again,  a deep  blush  rose  i 
to  her  cheeks,  heavy  tears  fell  from  her  eye-lashes;  she  ■ 
groped  for  a support,  as  if  she  had  lost  all  command  of  > 
her  senses,  and,  bursting  into  loud  sobs,  threw  herself  upon  ‘ 
the  small  low  sofa  that  stood  in  the  centre  of  the  room. 

For  some  time  the  father  stood  motionless,  looking 
down  upon  the  3^oung  girl,  whose  slender  figure  la3"  upon 
the  coucli  tossed  as  if  with  the  most  violent  convulsions. 

“Poor  little  one  ! ” he  said  finalW  “The  poor,  3’oung 
life  ! But  it  is  all  in  vain.  No  words  can  still  this  tem- 
pest. Only  listen  to  one  thing,  if  3^011  are  still  able  to 
listen ; what  T am  going  to  do  with  3"ou,  I shall  some  da3" 


BEPPE,  THE  STAR-GAZER. 


25 


have  to  answer  for  before  my  Creator  and  J iidge,  although 
1 am  conscious  of  no  blame  in  this  matter.  You  have  not 
learned  to  love  3’our  father,  Beppina ; }'et  you  know  him 
well  enough  to  know  that  he  does  inexorabl}"  what  he  con- 
siders his  duty.  You  will  not  leave  this  house,  until  I can 
permit  it  again.  I shall  lock  this  door,  and  shall  not  open 
it  again,  until  I have  the  assurance  from  ^^our  lips,  that 
you  will  be  my  obedient  child,  though  you  cannot  be  my 
loving  one.  Compose  yourself,  m}^  poor  daughter  ! This 
uncontrollable  grief — ” 

The  door  opened  noiselessl}^  and  the  mother  entered. 
She  cast  a glance  of  the  intensest  consternation  upon  the 
sobbing  girl  and  upon  her  husband’s  stern  face.  “For 
Heaven’s  sake  ? ” she  was  about  to  ask  ; but  a gesture  from 
him  silenced  her. 

“I  have  said  to  her  what  I could,”  he  said  softly. 
“See  if  you  can  soothe  her. — It  is  as  we  feared,”  he  added 
in  a more  suppressed  tone.  “The  resemblance  did  not 
deceive  us.  Poor  child  ! ” 

With  these  words  he  left  the  room,  with  a look  at  his 
wife  expressive  of  deep  suffering,  but  not  a shadow  ot 
reproach. 

She  heard  him  descend  the  stairs.  She  herself,  how- 
ever, stood  in  the  middle  of  the  room  like  a lifeless  statue, 
with  both  hands  pressed  to  her  brow,  as  if  benumbed  by 
some  shock  that  had  deprived  her  of  her  senses  for  a 
moment.  Yet  she  quickl}"  recovered  herself ; the  sounds 
which  fell  upon  her  ear  from  the  sofa  awakened  her  to  a 
consciousness  of  her  dut}"  as  a mother.  But  when  slie 
drew  near  her  unhapp}^  child,  and  knelt  down  on  the  floor 
beside  her,  and,  tenderly  speaking  her  name,  put  her  arm 
around  the  quivering  figure,  she  was  alarmed  at  the  vio- 
lence with  which  the  weeping  girl  started  up  and  pushed 
her  awa3\ 


BEPPE,  THE  STAR-GAZEB. 


26 

“What  do  you  want  of  me,  Mother?”  cried  Beppina,' 
as  if  beside  herself  “ Do  you  also  want  to  torment  me, 
call  me  your  poor  child,  and  at  the  same  time  be  tearing 
my  heart  out  of  my  bosom?  Leave  me  alone,  go  to  him 
with  whom  you  have  conspired  to  bring  me  to  my  grave, 
before  I have  learned  what  it  is  to  live  ! From  him  it  does 
not  surprise  me  nor  grieve  me  ! He  does  not  know  how  to 
smile  and  does  not  wish  to  see  a happy  face ; he  thinks  of 
the  stars  and  forgets  the  poor  creatures  who  are  on  earth 
and  dependent  upon  him.  He  knows  too  that  he  makes 
me  unhappy  and  he  does  not  wish  it  otherwise,  for  he  has 
no  knowledge  of  anything  but  his  solitaiy  thoughts ; he  , 
was  never  young,  oiid  has  never  wished  and  hoped,  loved 
and  suffered.  0,  Mother,  how  could  3^ou  ever  have  loved 
him?  How  was  it  3"our  heart  did  not  fear  him,  and  his  j 
coldness  send*  a chill  through  your  3^oung  blood?  I — I 
hate  him,  I have  always  hated  him,  but  for  3^ears  I thought  j 
it  could  onl3"  be  reverence  or  fear  that  made  me  shrink  : 
away  from  him.  And  just  now,  when  he  was  pronouncing  ; 
m3"  death-sentence,  with  as  gentle  a voice  as  if  he  were 
bringing  me  some  heavenly  grace,  then  I saw  clearl3"  into  ; 
my  heart  for  the  first  time,  and  knew  that  I had  hated  him  i 
from  my  very  childhood.  Mother,  I shall  die  of  this  j 
hatred  and  that  shall  be  m3"  revenge.  M3"  father  shall  find  y| 
that  despair  and  a horror  of  him  w"ill  put  an  end  to  his  * 
daughter’s  life.  Then,  Mother,  then  3-011  can  tell  him  that  -1 
he  must  not  gaze  at  the  stars  any  more,  for  a wretched 
being  is  living  up  there,  who  has  carried  her  grief  and  her 
liatred  with  her  into  eternity.  Then  if  he  still  has  the 
heart — ” 

“My  dear  and  01113-  child!”  her  mother  interrupted 
her,  pressing  her  caressing  hand  with  gentle  force  upon 
the  young  girl’s  lips,  “do  not  sin  so  deepl3",  do  not  aban- 
don 3"our  poor  soul  to  such  wicked  and  foolish  thoughts,  ^ 


BEPPE,  THE  STAR-GAZER. 


27 


which  you  will  bitterly  repent  when  this  storm  has  sub- 
sided. Hate  him  ! — Your  father,  who  has  never  shown 
you  an3"thing  but  loving  kindness,  who  purchased  your 
happiness  and  3"our  peace  at  a greater  cost  than  you  have 
any  idea  of,  and  has  deserved  only  3"our  love  and  rever 
ence  and  everlasting  gratitude,  even  when  ^^ou  ma}^  not 
have  understood  his  actions — and  3^011,  unhappy  child,  3^011 
can  rebel  so  bitterly  against  him,  3^ou  can  complain  even 
in  secret,  to  sa3^  nothing  of  accusing  him  with  such  mad 
words?  And  all  for  a happiness  which  3"ou  have  01113" 
dreamed  of,  which  perhaps — ” 

“Sa3"  nothing  against  A/m,  Mother,  if  3"ou  would  not 
actuall3^  drive  me  distracted  ! ” cried  the  weeping  girl.  ‘^0, 
Mother,  3"ou  do  not  know  him,  3-011  do  not  know  how  this 
dream  of  him,  which  3^ou  would  degrade,  has  filled  m3^  whole 
soul.  I have  been  a prisoner  for  sixteen  long  3^ears,  and  am 
I not  to  regard  as  a messenger  from  Heaven,  the  one  who 
wishes  to  lead  me  into  libert3",  who  came  at  last  to  win  for 
me  air  and  light,  joy  and  love — all  that  a poor  human  being 
requires — and  now  that  he  is  dismissed,  banished  from  m3" 
sight  forever — I am  to  resign  this  rescuer — to  keep  still 
and  be  bound  hand  and  foot,  and  not  even  tell  him  with 
my  e3"es  how  much  I am  suffering  on  his  account — no. 
Mother,  never  will  I consent  to  this  ! I am  not  a saint, 
like  3"ou.  0 Mother  ! A life  such  as  3^ou  have  endured  for 

3"ears  and  years,  would  be  bitterer  than  death  itself  to  me, 
and  mark  my  words,  if  3"ou  think  to  compel  my  obedience 
133"  force — the  balcon3"  is  high  enough,  thank  God,  for  me 
to  put  an  end  to  all  torment  and  slavery  with  one  leap 
from  it ! ” 

After  these  words,  all  was  silent  for  a while.  The 
young  girl,  exhausted  with  her  grief,  lay  on  the  sofa,  her 
face  concealed  in  her  moist  handkerchief,  without  once 
looking  at  her  mother,  who  was  still  kneeling  beside  her  on 


28 


BEPPE,  THE  STAR-GAZER. 


the  floor.  Suddenly  she  heard  a trembling  voice  close  to 
her  ear : 

“Lie  stillj  my  child — there!  weep  all  you  want  to. 
What  you  have  experienced  is  sad,  but  what  3^our  mother 
has  to  tell  3"ou  now  is  far  sadder.  I cherished  the  hope 
that  3"ou  would  never  need  to  hear  it,  though  it  has  been 
on  my  lips  to  tell  3^011  more  than  once,  when  I saw  how 
your  heart  rebelled  against  your  father.  You  do  not  know 
him,  my  child,  as  3^our  poor  mother  has  learned  to  know 
Jiim  in  the  last  seventeen  3"ears.  There  was  a time  when  I 
did  not  know  him  either.  At  that  time  3^our  mother  too, 
was  a gay  young  creature  and  3^our  father  was  even  then  a 
man,  who  laughed  01113'  when  there  was  a reason  for  it,  not 
for  the  mere  sake  of  laughing,  as  foolish  3^oung  people  do. 
And  3'our  mother — but  no,  no  1 I can  not ! It  is  too  hard 
to  confess  to  m3^  own  flesh  and  blood — ” 

She  ceased  and  pressed  her  e3^es,  from  which  the  tears  ? 
suddenl3"  burst  forth,  against  the  girl’s  shoulder. 

The  latter  raised  herself  up  SI0WI3'  and  put  her  arms 
around  her  weeping  mother,  as  her  own  tears  suddenl3V 
ceased  to  flow. 

“Tell  me  eveiything.  Mamma,”  she  whispered,  her 
voice  broken  113' sobs.  “It  wall  not  make  aiyy  difference.’ 
But  how  often  when  I have  seen  3'ou  going  around  so' 
quiet  and  uncomplaining — and  I could  see  veiy  well  wliati 
an  effort  3’'ou  made  to  smile  at  Father,  while  he — not  a 
muscle  of  his  face  changed — 0 Mother,  how  many,  many 
times  I have  been  tempted  to  fall  on  your  neck  and  appeal 
to  3'ou  to  tell  me  why  3^011  are  sad,  why  3'ou  do  not  talk  to 
him  as  other  wives  do,  and  tell  him  that  he  makes  3'ou 
wretched,  3^ou  and  3'our  daughter — and  always  when  3'ou 
smiled  like  a saint — ” 

“Hush,  hush,  my  child!”  remonstrated  Signora  Gio- 


BEPPE,  THE  STAR-GAZER. 


29 


conda.  ^‘Yoii  do  not  know  wliat  you  are  saying.  And 
now  it  must  be  done.  I owe  it  to  him  and  to  you,  come 
what  may.  I will  sit  down,  however,  and  you  must  sit 
on  m}'  lap,  as  I have  so  often  held  you,  when  you 
were  a little  girl  and  I told  you  fairy  tales  to  console  you 
for  some  broken  pla3^thing.  My  child,  if  I had  had  a 
mother,  perhaps  the  sad  story  of  m^^  life  would  have  ended 
dhferentl}".  But  mj"  father  had  no  control  over  me,  he 
idolized  me  because  I was  very  prett}^,  and  everybody  com- 
plimented m}^  blonde  hair  and  sparkling  eyes  to  him,  and 
repeated  the  saucy  things  I said  in  my  young  impertinence. 
And  I m3’self  felt  proud  that  no  one  could  dictate  to  me, 
that  I could  dress  and  laugh  and  sing  all  day  long,  and 
that  there  was  not  a 3^oung  man  in  the  whole  city  whom  I 
could  not  have  induced  by  a word  or  a look  to  do  whatever 
I wished.  Besides  we  were  wealthy  and  I had  everything 
that  heart  could  desire,  beautiful  clothes  and  jeweliy  and 
a home  that  was  much  richer  and  more  elegant  than  this 
little  room  of  yours,  my  child.  Yet  I thought  it  was  all 
onl3^  my  due;  for  such  a beautiful  picture  the  costliest 
frame  was  onl3"  suitable,  and  I considered  myself  far  too 
good  and  precious  to  esteem  an3^  one  of  m3’  many  suitors 
worth3’  of  me,  though  I did  not  reall3^  dismiss  any  of  them, 
for  it  flattered  my  vanity  to  have  such  a train  of  followers. 

At  that  time,  3"ou  see,  3’our  father  came  back  from 
Padua  as  a 3’oung  doctor  of  law.  I had  known  him  well 
years  before ; we  lived  for  some  time  in  one  of  the  houses 
near  by,  until  the  street  seemed  too  lonel3’  and  our  house 
too  dilapidated  for  me  and  I persuaded  my  father  to  ])uy  a 
far  more  beautiful  residence  on  the  Corso.  In  those  earl3^ 
da3’s  we  had  pla3’ed  together  as  neighbors’  children,  and 
even  as  a ver3’  3"oung  girl  T was  proud  that  little  Beppe, 
who  was  always  the  quietest  of  bo3’s,  would  do  m3’  bidding 
and  patientl3’  let  me  abuse  him.  When  he  came  back,  a 


30 


BEPPE,  THE  STAR-GAZER. 


mature  young  man,  lie  at  once  sought  us  out.  I was  not 
pleased  with  him,  however.  I considered  him  neither 
handsome  nor  gallant ; he  was  the  only  man  who  did  not 
flatter  me,  and  when  I carried  on  too  freely,  he  was  apt  to 
shrug  his  shoulders  and  quietly  withdraw.  And  this  very 
behavior  piqued  me.  1 tried  all  my  arts  to  bring  him  to 
my  feet,  and  it  required  no  great  effort  or  skill  on  my  part ; 
he  was  at  heart  much  more  deeply  in  love  with  the  pla}"- 
mate  of  his  youth,  than  was  any  other  of  my  admirers. 
When  I perceived  this,  I did  not  feel  the  least  pity,  onl}^  a 
cold-hearted,  malicious  triumph,  and  I treated  him  even 
more  indifferently  than  any  one  else.  However  he  did  not 
change  for  a moment  on  that  account.  He  only  smiled  in 
that  way  of  his  to  himself,  when  I called  him  by  his  nick- 
name of  ‘ Beppe,  the  Star-gazer’,  and  ridiculed  him,  sa3flng. 
that  any  one  who  knew  the  sky  so  well,  would  surely"  lose 
his  way  on  earth.  In  spite  of  all  the  ridicule  I heaped, 
upon  him,  he  came  almost  every  other  day  to  see  my 
father,  who  had  been  accustomed  to  consult  Doctor  Beppe’s 
father  in  regard  to  all  sorts  of  legal  matters,  and  this  con- 
fidence was  now  transferred  to  the  son.  My  father  was 
Consul  for  a foreign  countr}"  and  carried  on  a complicated; 
banking  business.  In  all  this  the  3"Oung  law^^er  assisted; 
him.  ^ No  matter  if  he  does  make  all  sorts  of  nonsensical 
mathematical  calculations  to  ascertain  the  orbit  of  a star,’! 
my  father  would  say — ‘ he  knows  how  notwithstanding,  to' 
find  his  wa3"  in  the  exchange-list  too,  and  through  the  para- 
graphs of  his  law-books.  You  should  not  treat  him  so 
coldl}",  Gioconda.’— H am  not  a constellation,’  I would 
retort  saucily.  ‘ But  he  does  not  cut  a good  figure  in  the 
sunlight.  J list  look  how  black  he  is.  It  seems  as  if  he 
had  buried  laughter  and  were  wearing  mourning  for  it.’ 

“ Thus  I constantl}'  evaded  my  father  and  Beppe  too, 
when  he  succeeded  in  finding  me  alone.  I secretH  felt  a 


BEPPE,  THE  STAR-GAZER. 


31 


fear  of  him,  which  was  in  reality  nothing  else  than  a kind 
of  shame  that  I could  not  pass  him  by. 

‘^One  day,  however,  when  he  met  me  in  the  garden 
and  I had  been  showering  him  with  the  most  unkind  rail- 
lery, to  conceal  my  secret  dread  of  him,  for  I felt  that  he 
could  see  into  my  innermost  heart,  I saw  his  calm  face 
suddenly  assume  a deeply-grieved  expression.  ‘ I pity 
you,  Grioconda,’  said  he,  ‘3^011  dissemble  too  much.  But 
that  can  not  blind  me  in  regard  to  3^0 u.  You  will  never 
have  a truer  friend  than  I.’ 

‘^At  this  I suddenl3'  ceased  laughing,  but  these  kind 
words  of  his  onl3^  piqued  m3^  childish  spirit  still  more.  I 
did  not  want  a friend,  least  of  all,  one  who  could  believe 
me  capable  of  dissembling. 

“ I was  so  angry  with  him  and  so  provoked  with  my- 
self, because  I could  not  give  him  a scornful  answer,  that 
the  tears  came  into  my  e3^es.  The  same  evening  I began 
talking  to  m3"  father  about  Beppe,  sa3"ing  that  I did  not 
wish  to  see  him  an3"  more,  because  he  did  not  behave  po- 
litel3’  enough,  and  if  my  father  could  not  forbid  him  the 
house,  he  should  at  least  tell  him  that  his  society  was  dis- 
tasteful to  me,  and  that  all  attempts  to  improve  me  and 
make  me  submissive  to  his  will  were  in  vain. 

“ But  m3^  father  did  not,  as  was  his  wont,  yield  the 
point  at  once,  even  before  I had  quite  finished  speaking. 
He  looked  grave,  remained  silent  for  a while  and  then  in- 
formed me  that  I would  do  very  wrong  to  reject  Doctor 
Beppe.  He  was  the  only  man  in  the  city  who  had  an 
accurate  knowledge  of  m3'  father’s  business  situation  and 
was  making  every  exertion  to  prevent  the  failure  of  our 
house,  yet  that  very  morning  he  had  formally  proposed  for 
m3"  hand,  and  m3"  father  had  given  his  consent,  in  case 
he  could  obtain  mine. 

“ It  seemed  as  if  the  earth  had  opened  under  my  feet. 


32 


BEPPE,  THE  STAR-GAZER. 


and  a sudden  dizziness  were  about  to  plunge  me  into  the 
ab3'ss. 

“I  did  not  answer  a word,  but  returned  to  room 
with  despair  in  my  heart,  and  did  not  close  my  eyes  all 
night.  Should  I renounce  everything  that  had  hitherto 
filled  my  life,  and  live  on  in  future  as  a poor  girl,  pitied,  per- 
haps ridiculed,  and  hear  my  envious  companions  exulting 
over  me,  or  should  I place  myself  forever  in  the  power  of 
this  gloom}^,  stern  and  monosyllabic  friend,’  and  in  order 
to  preserve  the  appearance  of  prosperity,  forfeit  eternall}^ 
my  true  happiness,  which  I could  only  picture  to  mj^self  as 
ga}^  and  light  hearted.'’ 

Beppina,  who  had  buried  her  face  in  her  mother’s 
bosom,  nestled  closer  to  her,  and  a sigh  shook  the  young 
figure,  which  had  remained  quite  motionless  on  the 
mother’s  lap.  “0  Mother,”  said  she.  “how  you  must  have 
suffered ! ” 

“I  deserved  it,”  said  the  lad^^  and  gently  touched  her 
lips  to  her  child’s  dark  hair.  “ But  I was  not  3"et  suflficientty 
humiliated.  I was  not  yet  willing  to  believe  that  there 
was  no  other  deliverance.  When  Dr.  Beppe  came  the  next 
morning,  I locked  mj^self  into  my  room.  He  had  a long 
conversation  with  m^^  father.  Then  he  sent  word  to  ask  if 
I would  listen  to  him  for  a few  minutes.  I appeared  before 
him  colder  and  more  repellent  than  ever.  If  I were  to  be 
sold,  I would  not  have  the  air  of  consenting  to  my  own 
degradation.  But  he  seemed  to  overlook  all  that.  He 
knew,  he  said,  that  I had  no  feeling  of  love  for  him  3^et.  As 
long  as  I had  prospects  of  a rich  dowr}^,  he  had  not  ven- 
tured to  offer  himself.  Nor  should  I decide  too  hastily 
now.  Disinterestedness  was  certainty  the  least  merit  an 
honest  friend  could  attribute  to  himself ; and  in  his  case 
there  could  not  even  be  a question  of  that.  His  long- 
seated,  deep  affection  for  me  made  the  possession  of  me 


BEPPE,  THE  STAR-GAZER. 


33 


seem  in  liis  eyes  a treasure  that ^ could  not  be  outweighed 
i by  millions,  if  he  had  them  to  bestow.  But  the  genuine 
j and  uuchaugiug  love  of  an  honorable  man  was  also  a great 
! treasure,  and  he  could  not  abandon  the  hope  that  I would 
f some  day.  learn  to  appreciate  this,  and  taking  it  into 
' account,  would  place  a low  estimate  upon  many  other  gifts 
which  he  lacked. 

; He  then  extended  his  hand,  in  which  I laid  my  cold 

^ hand  without  a word  of  consent  or  refusal,  just  as  one 
would  dismiss  any  casual  visitor. 

“From  that  morning  peace  and  gayety  were  at  an  end 
I for  me.  He  now  came  daily,  but  never  spoke  to  me  of 
love.  Nor  did  my  father  urge  me.  I knew  however  that 
they  both  regarded  me  as  engaged,  and  when  I thought  of 
this,  a cold  shiver  would  creep  over  me. 

“And  then  one  day  there  came — ” 

She  paused.  Beppina  felt  her  mother’s  heart  begin- 
ning to  beat  more  violently,  her  knees  were  trembling  and 
a few  moments  passed  before  she  gained  strength  to 
continue. 

“My  child,”  she  said  in  a scarcely  audible  voice,  “I 
would  give  the  remainder  of  my  life,  if  I might  be  spared 
the  pain  of  telling  you  this  sad  story,  which  still  causes  me 
such  deep  shame,  though  I have  long  since  repented.  But 
your  peace  of  mind  depends  upon  it,  my  darling ; you  will 
never  let  your  mother  regret  having  confessed  to  you — to 
save  your  own  happiness — how  weak  she  was?  ” 

A passionate  embrace  from  Beppina  prevented  her 
from  sa3dng  more.  The  girl  now  pressed  her  face  so  close 
on  her  mother's  bosom  that  their  e^  es  did  not  meet. 

“ One  day  there  came  to  m^^  father’s  house  a young 
Venetian — the  son  of  a rich  jeweler.  He  had  a letter  of 
credit  upon  our  bank,  which  at  that  time  was  still  as  flour- 
ishing as  ever  in  the  e3"es  of  outsiders.  He  was  a handsome 


34 


BEPPE,  THE  STAR-GAZER. 


young  man  with  rather  free,  conceited  manners,  and  expe- 
rienced in  everything  that  would  please  a vain  young  girl. 
When  he  first  saw  me  on  the  street,  he  stopped  with  a ges- 
ture of  the  most  reverent  admiration,  as  if  he  had  met  a 
heavenly  apparition.  I felt,  what  I had  never  felt  before, 
a sensation  of  peril,  and  a thrill  of  delight,  which  I only 
concealed  behind  my  fan  with  some  effort.  Yet  I met  the 
stranger  again  that  very  evening  in  my  father’s  house. 
Before  three  days  elapsed,  he  had  laid  his  heart  at  my  feet 
and  I had  confessed  to  him  that  he  was  my  first  love. 

“My  father,  was  not  in  the  secret.  But  I do  not 
doubt  that  he  was  aware  of  the  condition  of  my  poor,  vain 
heart,  and  was  by  no  means  dissatisfied  with  this  turn  of 
affairs.  He  had  had  no  objection  to  accepting  Beppe’s 
assistance  at  the  cost  of  my  life’s  happiness.  However,  if 
things  happened  more  fortunately,  if  he  could  be  rescued 
from  his  precarious  situation  by  a son-in-law  after  his 
daughter’s  own  heart,  he  was  quite  ready  to  undo  all  that 
had  been  done,  and  break  faith  with  the  earlier  friend. 
Onlj%  as  a cautious  business  man,  he  did  not  want  to  act 
rashly,  but  to  let  whatever  had  been  decreed  by  Heaven 
come  to  pass  of  itself. 

“ His  unfortunate  daughter  was  less  wise  and  cautious. 
When,  after  six  weeks  that  had  flown  by  like  a dream,  my 
lover  in  secret  took  his  leave,  in  order,  as  he  said,  first  to 
obtain  his  father’s  consent  and  then  to  hasten  back  to  his 
betrothed  on  the  wings  of  yearning  love,  I was  left  as  one 
forever  lost,  although  I did  not  yet  realize  the  full  extent 
of  my  misery ; day  after  day  I locked  mj'self  in  my 
chamber  and  did  not  even  venture  to  look  my  father  in  the 
face,  feeling  that  my  sin  and  my  misery  were  written  on 
my  brow,  and  when  I heard  Doctor  Beppe  s step  in  the 
house,  I trembled  with  agony,  as  if  my  judge  were  coming 
to  annihilate  me  with  one  merciless  look.” 


BEPPE,  THE  STAR-GAZEll. 


35 


Again  she  became  silent.  Her  daughter  on  her  lap 
sat  without  uttering  a sound,  holding  her  breath  even. 
Only  her  arms  clasped  her  mother  more  closely. 

must  finish,”  the  latter  continued  at  length.  ‘Hn 
fact,  I have  nearly  reached  the  end.  I wrote  to  him  every 
day.  It  hurt  my  feelings  that  he  did  not  reply  immedi- 
ately, but  I felt  no  forebodings  as  yet.  He  is  probabl}' 
waiting  for  a favorable  opportunity  to  inform  his  father,  I 
thought.  Thus  two  interminably  long  weeks  wore  awa}'. 
At  last  there  came  a letter  from  Venice.  He  did  not  even 
have  enough  compassion  upon  me  to  break  the  terril)le 
tidings  to  me  gradually.  He  wrote  quite  calmly  that  the 
happy  hours  we  had  passed  together  had  been,  alas  ! too 
brief,  and  were  not  to  be  repeated.  He  was  obliged  to  take 
a long  journey  on  some  business  for  his  father,  and  was 
utterly  uncertain  as  to  when  he  should  return,  and  I was 
not  to  be  so  foolish  as  to  wait  for  him,  but  accept,  for 
Heaven's  sake,  the  addresses  of  the  worthy  Doctor — he 
had  become  slightly  acquainted  with  Beppe — and  forget 
that  there  was  a being  in  the  world  who  might  perhaps 
have  made  me  happier — if  it  had  been  so  written  in 
the  stars. 

He  had  the  cruelty  to  tell  me  this,  although  in  my 
last  letter  I had  confessed  to  him  with  tears  my  expecta- 
tion of  becoming  a mother. 

^‘The  days  that  now  ensued — the  sleepless  nights 
spent  in  weeping — 0,  my  child,  what  a price  I had  to  pay 
for  you ! 

“ At  that  time  I thought  I could  not  survive  the  day 
when  I should  first  look  into  your  eyes  and  read  in  them 
shame  and  my  grief ! When  I realized  that  I was  be- 
trayed, and  betrayed  by  the  one  on  whom,!  had  so  madl}' 
lavished  all  I possessed,  an  icy  calm  came  over  me.  I 
could  even  appear  before  my  father,  or  exchange  a word 


36 


BEPPE,  THE  STAR-GAZEK. 


with  the  friend  of  my  youth,  whom  I now  feared  so  much, 
without  disclosing  my  secret.  I had  strength  to  cany  out 
my  part,  so  that  my  name  might  be  free  from  disgrace, 
when  it  could  no  longer  affect  me.  For  it  seemed  to  me 
inevitable  from  the  very  first,  that  I must  put  an  end  to 
my  life. 

“ I do  not  know,  however,  how  long  I might  have  hesi- 
tated, I was  so  young  and  I had  once  so  loved  life. 

“ But  there  came  an  hour  that  decided  my  fate. 

“ It  was  one  afternoon  late  in  the  summer ; the  days 
were  already  growing  short.  Beppe  had  dined  with  us, 
only  we  three  at  a small  table.  He  was  looked  upon  in 
the  city  as  my  betrothed  lover,  although  there  had  been  no 
public  announcement  of  our  engagement.  As  I entered 
the  dining-room,  he  regarded  me  with  a look  which  curdled 
the  ver}^  blood  in  my  veins.  For  the  first  time  I dared  not 
look  at  him  openly ; but  through  the  entire  meal  I felt  his 
e3'es  resting  upon  me,  and  the  little  that  I ate  was  bitterer 
to  me  than  gall. 

“I  hastened  to  seek  refuge  in  my  room,  and  burst  into 
a flood  of  tears.  Thus  I did  not  notice  that  some  one  had 
come  to  my  door  and  entered  without  knocking.  Beppe 
was  standing  before  me.  I could  not  see  his  features 
through  my  tears,  and  only  motioned  him  hastily  to  leave 
me,  as  I was  not  feeling  well.  He  remained,  however,  and 
was  silent  for  quite  a while. 

“‘Gioconda,’  he  said  at  length,  Giave  you  nothing  to 
confide  to  me?  Do  you  not  know  that  3^011  have  not  a 
truer  friend  than  I,  not  one  who  would  be  so  ready  to  do 
eveiy thing  that  is  necessaiy  to  3^our  happiness? — every- 
thing— everything — ! ’ he  repeated  twice  in  a voice  that 
pierced  me  to  the  heart. 

“I  onl}^  shook  my  head  vehemently". 

“ ‘ Consider  this,  Gioconda ; night  often  brings  good 


BEPPE,  THE  STAR-GAZER. 


37 


counsel/  he  continued,  Ho  you — and  to  me.  Believe  me, 
one  can  find  the  way  all  the  better  upon  earth  for  being 
familiar  with  the  stars.’ 

He  spoke  thus  for  some  time  longer,  then  left  me — 
more  wretched  than  before.  For  the  first  time  I had  a full 
realization  of  what  a man  he  was,  and  how  blindly  and 
madly  I had  cast  away  genuine  gold  for  a bright  bit  of 
broken  glass,  which  was  now  giving  me  a fatal  wound. 

But  the  thought  of  being  indebted  to  him,  whom  I 
had  so  deeply  injured,  was  all  the  more  unendurable  to  me. 
I waited  till  it  had  grown  dark,  then  with  a veil  thrown 
over  me  I walked  through  the  garden — at  that  time  we 
were  living  in  the  villa  on  the  outskirts  of  the  city — and 
went  on,  as  I had  already  done  many  an  evening,  farther 
and  farther  between  the  walls  until  I had  passed  entirely 
out  into  the  countiy.  The  air  was  perfectly  motionless, 
the  distant  roar  of  the  river  could  be  heard — ‘ It  is  calling 
me ! ’ I thought,  and  turned  through  the  fields,  where  they 
were  shaded  by  the  mulberry  trees,  so  that  I thought  I was 
quite  unobserved.  Once  indeed  it  seemed  as  if  some  one 
were  following  me,  but  when  I stopped  and  looked  around, 
all  was  still  again.  So  I reached  the  river.  For  a long 
time  I gazed  into  its  depths,  till  the  first  stars  were  gleam- 
ing in  the  dark  fiood.  My  whole  unhappy  life  glided  past 
me  like  the  stream ; when  I saw  the  false  eyes  looking  at 
me  again,  and  heard  the  whisper  of  the  voice  that  had  de- 
ceived me,  there  came  into  my  heart  such  an  abhorrence  of 
this  disgraced  existence,  that  it  seemed  to  me  it  would  be 
a heavenly  kindness  to  wash  away  all  the  contamination 
from  my  body  and  my  soul  by  a deep  plunge,  from  which 
I should  never  emerge.  I no  longer  had  any  dread  to 
overcome ; ^ Good-night ! ’ I said  aloud  to  myself,  then 
drew  my  veil  closel}^  over  my  face  to  walk  quickly,  blind- 
folded, the  short  distance  through  the  reeds. 


38 


BEPPE,  THE  STAR-GAZER. 


“All  at  once  I felt  a hand  upon  my  arm.  I screamed 
as  if  a murderer  had  attacked  me.  However,  I knew  im- 
mediately who  it  was,  before  I had  looked  around. 

“^Come  with  me,  Grioconda,’  I heard  Beppe’s  voice 
saying — ‘You  are  out  of  your  senses;  it  is  a fortunate 
thing  that  I happened  to  be  passing.  Let  us  go  home.’ 

“He  still  held  me  firmly  by  the  arm,  I felt  that  I no 
longer  had  any  will-power,  that  he  was  the  stronger.  So  I 
went  whither  he  led  me,  without  making  any  resistance. 
He  presently  released  his  hold  upon  my  arm  and  neither 
of  us  spoke  a word.  Only  when  we  saw  the  top  of  the 
villa  above  the  garden-walls,  he  asked  casually  : ‘ He  prom- 
ised you  that  he  would  make  you  his  wife?  ’ 

“I  could  only  answer  with  a motion  of  the  head. 
Thereupon  he  was  again  silent  till  we  reached  the  garden. 
Here  he  stopped  and  said  : ‘ One  thing  more,  Gioconda  ! 

I shall  not  leave  you,  till  you  solemnly  pledge  me  your 
word,  that  you  will  not  again  take  this  walk  nor  a similar 
one,  before  I come  back,  three  days  from  now.  I have 
business  in  Venice.  Will  you  promise  me  to  wait  for  my 
return?  After  that  you  shall  be  mistress  of  your  own 
actions.’ 

“ I could  do  nothing  but  raise  my  eyes  to  Heaven  and 
whisper  ‘ Yes  ! ’ 

“ ‘ It  is  well,’  said  he,  ‘ I believe  you.  Good-night ! ’ 

“ So  he  left  me. 

“I  felt  paralj^zed,  all  my  mental  faculties  were  sus- 
pended, I did  not  even  feel  aii}'  pain,  nor  hope,  nor  fear ; 
indeed,  it  actually  seemed  as  if  I were  no  longer  in  this 
world,  as  if  Beppe  had  withheld  my  body  alone  from  the  ■ 
plunge  into  the  depths,  but  that  my  soul  had  really  been  ; 
drowned. 

“In  this  condition  three  days  passed.  I pleaded  • 
indisposition  as  an  excuse  for  keeping  my  room,  for  I i. 


BEPPE,  THE  STAR-GAZER. 


39 


could  not  endure  ni}"  father’s  society.  From  morning  till 
night  I lay  dressed  upon  my  couch,  and  felt  like  a corpse 
that  is  awaiting  burial. 

“On  the  evening  of  the  fourth  day  I awoke  with  a 
start  from  a light  slumber  into  which  I had  fallen,  for 
during  the  night  I never  closed  my  eyes,  but  wandered 
restlessly  to  and  fro,  like  one  under  sentence  of  death. — 
Beppe  stood  at  my  bedside. 

“‘You  have  kept  your  word,’  said  he.  ‘Forgive  me 
for  not  coming  sooner.  He  played  at  hide-and-seek  with 
me  for  a while.  But  nevertheless  I found  him  out  at  last.’ 

“‘Hid  you — ? ’ I began  with  a shudder. 

“‘No,  I spared  him,  hard  as  it  was  for  me.  Veril}-, 
not  for  his  sake.  But  the  wretch — he  has  a young  wife 
and  a boy  four  years  old.  I dared  not  burden  my  soul 
with  the  misery  of  a widow  and  a fatherless  child.’ 

“ Thereupon  we  were  silent  for  perhaps  a quarter  of 
an  hour.  I lay  with  my  lips  pressed  together  that  I might 
not  cry  out,  while  glowing  tears  burned  my  eyes.  Beppe 
had  taken  his  place  at  the  window  and  seemed  entirely  ab- 
sorbed in  the  contemplation  of  the  starry  sky. 

“ At  length  he  turned  around  toward  me  again. 

“‘You  are  now  mistress  of  your  own  actions,’  said  he. 
‘I  do  not  know  what  you  will  desire.  But  I am  the  same 
as  before,  and  should  consider  m3’self  a coward,  if,  after 
once  pledging  m^^  faith  to  ^^ou,  I should  leave  you  to  bear 
alone  the  heav}"  burden  resting  on  your  shoulders.  Nor 
will  it  do  for  3^ou  to  take  cowardl}-  refuge  in  a sin  to  escape 
unhappiness,  simply  to  flee  from  yourself.  You  must  live, 
Gioconda,  for  yourself  and  for  the  sake  of  another  life. 
Not  for  mine,  understand  me  well.  I no  longer  hope  for 
happiness  at  your  hands.  But  although  3^011  can  no  longer 
be  mine,  as  I once  dreamed,  I am  still  3"ours.  You  shall 
bear  my  name,  and  3"our  child  shall  l)e  called  my  cliild.  Tn 


40 


BEPPE,  THE  STAR-GAZER. 


other  respects — we  will  live  together  as  strangers.  This 
is  what  I have  read  in  the  stars.  I will  give  you  this 
night  to  reflect  upon  it.  Tomorrow  morning  I will  go  to 
your  father  and  ask  him  if  he  consents  to  hasten  the  wed- 
ding. Then  he  will  ask  your  opinion,  and  if  you  say  yes, 
we  can  be  married  and  away  from  here  in  a week.  Never 
by  word  or  look  will  I remind  you,  that  I had  once  hoped 
to  be  more  to  you  than  a brother  who  will  stand  by  his 
sister  through  life,  for  better,  for  worse  ! ’ ” 

* * 

* 

The  lady’s  voice  had  grown  lower  and  lower,  now  it 
died  away  utterly.  It  was  already  dim  twilight  in  tlie 
chamber,  the  evening  breeze  floated  in  at  the  open  door  of 
the  balcony  and  fanned  the  hot,  tear-stained  faces  of  the 
mother  and  daughter,  as  they  were  pressed  close  against 
each  other. 

“Now  3"ou  know  all ! ” whispered  the  former,  pressing 
a long  kiss  on  the  young  girl’s  brow.  “ But  no,  one  thing 
more,  the  saddest  part,  which  concerns  you  more  than  all 
the  rest.  The  sins  of  the  mother  are  visited  upon  the 
daughter : He  on  whom  3^011  have  bestowed  your  heart  is 
the  son  of  that  false  man ” 

A half-smothered  scream  from  Beppina  interrupted 
her.  The  girl  sprang  up  from  her  mother’s  lap  and  the  next 
moment  fell  down  upon  the  carpet,  as  if  she  had  been  shot 
through  the  heart. 

The  mother  rushed  to  her,  terrified,  and  endeavored 
to  lift  her  up  and  clasp  her  again  to  her  breast  with  tender 
caresses.  But  the  poor  child  pushed  her  awa}’  so  passion- 
atel}^,  and  indicated  her  desire  to  be  left  alone  hy  such 
touching  gestures  and  inarticulate  words,  that  to  quiet  her, 
Signora  Gioconda  finally  yielded  and  withdrew  to  the 


41 


i BEPPE,  THE  STAR-GAZER. 

adjoining  room,  where  Beppina’s  bed  stood  beside  her  own. 
She  had  closed  the  door  opening  on  the  balcony  and  left 
the  one  between  the  two  rooms  ajar,  being  pursued  with  a 
secret  fear,  lest  the  poor  young  creature  should  carry  out 
her  threat  and  do  something  desperate  to  escape  the  tor- 
ment of  so  many  agonizing  emotions. 

She  sat  down  upon  the  edge  of  the  bed  and  tortured 
herself  with  doubts,  as  to  whether  she  had  done  wisely  in 
opening  Beppina’s  e^^es  to  the  sad  events  of  which  she  had 
hitherto  had  no  suspicion.  But  before  she  could  arrive  at 
any  clear  decision,  the  door  opened  and  her  daughter  stood 
on  the  threshold. 

“ Mother,”  said  she  in  quite  a composed  tone,  ''  I beg 
3"ou  to  calm  yourself.  I — I only  wish  to  go  down  stairs 
to  Father.  Then  I will  come  right  back  again.  But 
first — ” 

She  sprang  to  the  bed,  threw  her  arms  around  her 
mother’s  neck,  and  kissed  her  lips  impetuously,  as  if  she 
would  stifle  every  question  on  them. 

The  next  instant  she  had  left  the  room. 

‘ Below  in  his  office  on  the  ground  floor  sat  the  lawyer 

in  front  of  a desk  entirely  covered  with  bundles  of  legal 
documents  and  papers.  A lamp  suspended  from  the  ceil- 
ing illuminated  the  quiet  features  of  the  lonely  man,  who, 
however,  seemed  anything  but  absorbed  in  his  labors.  He 
sat  leaning  back  in  a small  leather  chair,  a law-paper  in 
one  hand,  the  other  shading  his  eyes ; he  looked  as  if  he 
were  overcome  Vv^ith  sleep  or  some  waking  vision. 

There  came  a gentle  tap  at  the  door.  He  supposed 
Signora  Glioconda  was  coming  to  talk  over  with  him  the 
events  of  this  day.  But  as  he  rose  and  advanced  to  meet 
her,  he  started  involuntarily.  Beppina  had  entered  and 
was  standing  near  the  door  in  the  most  humble  attitude. 

“Father,”  said  she,  “T  am  disturbing  you,  I will  not 


42 


BEPPE,  THE  STAR-GAZER. 


detain  you  long,  only  until  I — till  you  have  told  me,  that 
yon — have  forgiven  me  the  sins  I have  been  guilty  of 
against  you  for  so  many  years.” 

She  had  scarcely  said  this  ere  she  lay  at  his  feet,  con- 
vulsed by  such  violent  sobs,  that  he  could  not  understand 
a word  of  what  she  falteringly  pronounced. 

Her  father  bent  over  her  and  raised  her  np  in  his 
arms  like  a little  child. 

^‘Will  yon  be  reasonable  at  last?”  said  he  in  a voice 
broken  with  emotion.  “How  then  shall  I forgive  you,  if  I 
do  not  know  what  your  crime  is?  That  you  could  give 
your  heart  away  without  asking  my  permission — have  you 
not  had  to  suffer  so  deeply  for  this,  that  3^onr  father  can  no 
longer  be  angry,  but  can  only  pity  you?  And  moreover — ” ' 
He  tried  to  press  her  to  his  breast  and  kiss  her  brow,  ' 
]>ut  she  slipped  out  of  his  arms,  and  before  he  could  pre- 
A^ent  it,  she  was  lying  at  his  feet  once  more.  « 

“No,”  she  cried,  “there  is  much  that  is  hard  to  con-  ^ 
fess  and  atone  for,  and  when  you  know  all,  3^011  will  neA^er 
take  me  to  your  heart  again.  0,  Father,  I have  hated  3 ou  ! 
From  the  time  I was  able  to  reason  and  could  compare  ^ 
and  reflect,  I have  hated  3^011,  because  3^ou  were  not  like  ■ 
other  men.  If  I had  seen  3^011  die,  I should  only  have  ] 
thought : We  are  set  free ; now  Ave  shall  begin  to  live ! < 
And  you — 3^011 — whom  I considered  a hard,  unloving  man,  ^ 
who  could  make  his  wife  unhapp3^  and  keep  his  daughter  a ■ 
prisoner — 3^011  have  been  a saint,  3^011  have — O HeaA^ens — 
if  I could  speak — if  I could  find  AAwds — I am  not  Avorthy 
to  lie  here  in  the  dust  at  3^0111*  feet — ” 

“Are  3’Ou  craz3^,  Beppina?  ” cried  her  father  in  a 
veiy  serious  tone.  “Glet  up  immediateh",  come  to  A our 
senses  and  tell  me  the  meaning  of  these  exaggerated 
speeches.  You  knoAV  T am  not  fond  of  declamation,  and  I 
liave  not  the  remotest  idea  of  Avhat  3^011  mean  bv  what  vou 


BEPPE,  THE  STAR-GAZER. 


43 


are  saying.  Will  3^011  obe}^  me?  I am  severe,  I know,  and 
if  I have  been  so  toward  3^011,  I had  good  cause  for  it. 
The  blood  in  your  veins  is  too  quick  and  too  easily  excited, 
and  must  eaii3^  be  held  under  control,  that  it  ma3^  not 
work  harm.  For  this  reason  I had  to  guard  3^ou  stricth^, 
and  as  I,  being  3^ our  father,  am  responsible  for  your  unde- 
veloped soul,  I have  had  to  bear  it  patiently,  when  3^011 
secretl3"  called  me  a t3H’ant.  But  what  you  sav  about 
hatred  is  foll3^,  m3^  child.  You  must  first  learn  to  live, 
first  learn  to  know  good  and  evil.  Not  till  then  will  you 
learn  that  an  upright  human  being  hates  evil  onl3^,  and 
that  he  must  love  good  from  the  depths  of  his  heart, 
though  he  does  not  at  once  comprehend  it.  And  let  this 
suffice  for  toda3\  You  know  that  I have  much  to  do.” 

The  3"Oung  girl  had  risen  to  her  feet,  her  tears  had 
ceased  to  flow,  but  her  pale  face  was  still  glistening  with 
them,  as  she  now  stood  before  the  stern  man  in  a modest 
attitude. 

“Pardon  me,”  said  she,  when  he  ended  ; “I  am  going 
now.  I have  freed  1113"  mind,  3^011  ma3^  l)elieve  as  much  as 
3"ou  choose  of  w^hat  I have  said.  What  has  taken  place  in 
the  past — I shall  strive  to  forget  it  and  to  forgive  m3^self. 
From  this  time  forth  there  is  not  a human  being  in  the 
world,  whom  I love  so  warml3"  and  devotedly  as  I do  you. 
m3^  father.  I shall  have  but  one  thought,  how  I can  repay 
3’ou  for  what  3^011  have  done  for  me,  and  1 shall  know  no 
other  will  than  3’ours.  And  now  I should  like  to  make  a 
request — it  would  be  eas3^  for  you  to  grant  it.” 

“ A request,  m3"  child?  ” 

“That  3"ou  will  let  me  go  to  Aunt  Perpetua  for  a 
while.  1 feel  the  need  of  being  entirely  by  m3"self,  to 
think  over  all  that  lias  happened  to  me.  You  know  that  I 
shall  be  well  taken  care  of  in  the  convent — and  when  it  is 
time.  T wall  come  back  again.’' 


44 


BEPPE,  THE  STAR-GAZER. 


“Does  your  mother  know  of  your  wish?  Has  sIk 
agreed  to  the  plan?  ” 

“I  did  not  want  to  say  anything  to  her  about  it,  untr 
I knew  whether  3"ou  would  give  j^our  consent.  ’ 

“Very  well,  my  child.  Go  back  to  3^our  mother  and 
ask  her.  1 will  consent  to  anything  that  seems  right  and 
proper  in  her  e3"es.  And  tr3^  to  banish  these  strang€ 
thoughts.  You  hate  me  ! It  is  almost  as  fantastic  as  that 
T should  hate  you  ! Good-night,  my  poor  Beppina  ! ” 

He  took  her  in  his  arms  and  clasped  her  to  his  breast, 
touching  her  forehead  with  his  lips.  “Good-night!”  he 
repeated,  with  a wave  of  the  hand.  Then  he  saw  the  silent, 
dejected  face  turn  awa3"  from  him  and  disappear  through 
the  door-way,  without  a word  in  response.  " 

* * ' 

* 

He  remained  at  home  for  an  hour  longer,  but  without 
going  on  with  his  work  again.  He  appeared  to  be  waiting 
for  some  one ; for  as  he  paced  up  and  down  the  room,  full 
of  restless  thoughts,  he  would  sometimes  pause  to  listen  at 
the  door.  He  was  disappointed  each  time  however ; no 
one  was  approaching,  neither  Beppina  nor  her  mother.^ 
Then  an  expression  of  pain  would  cross  his  face,  and  he| 
would  resume  his  walk  in  the  narrow  apartment.  ' 

When  the  accustomed  hour  arrived,  he  left  the  house! 
to  go  to  the  Cafe.  He  did  not  speak  with  an3"  one  there, ' 
but  seated  himself  in  a quiet  corner  and  became  absorbed 
in  the  “ Perseveranza.  ” At  ten  o’clock  he  rose,  saluted  his 
acquaintances  wifh  a slight  bow  and  went  home. 

The  3^oung  girl,  who  lay  in  her  bed  near  her  mother, 
awake,  and  with  weeping  eyes,  heard  her  father  as  he 
ascended  the  stair-case  to  his  lonely  observatory  in  the 
upper  storv.  She  had  not  put  out  the  light  till  she  heard 
his  familiar  step  in  the  street  l)elow.  “Are  you  asleep, 


45 


fet:PPE,  THE  STAR-GAZER. 

Mother?  ” she  asked  in  a whisper.  0,  Mother,  this  is  the 
way  he  has  come  home  for  eighteen  ^^ears  ! ” 

There  was  no  reply  to  these  words.  They  had  spent 
the  remainder  of  the  day  together  rather  silently.  Signora 
Gioconda  had  only  answered  Beppina’s  request  to  be 
allowed  to  go  to  her  aunt  by  an  acquiescent  nod.  It 
seemed  to  her  the  most  salutary  thing  for  her  poor  child, 
that  she  should  for  a time  leave  the  house  in  which 
she  would  now  necessarily  see  everything  in  a different 
light.  Besides,  in  the  convent  she  would  be  safe  from  any 
meeting  with  the  man  on  whom  she  must  never  smile  again. 

Accordingly  the  very  next  morning  she  began  her 
preparations  for  the  young  girl’s  departure.  Her  trunk 
was  soon  packed,  the  light  carriage  which  sometimes  con- 
veyed the  lawyer  into  the  country  to  his  suburban  clients, 
was  already  standing  by  eleven  o’clock  in  front  of  the  house, 
Aristides  seated  on  the  box,  and  Aunt  Perpetua  on  the  soft 
leather  cushions.  When  Beppina  had  torn  herself  out  of 
her  mother’s  arms  and  received  her  father’s  kiss  on  her 
l)row,  she  turned  back  once  more  and  hastily  whispered  a 
few  words  in  Signora  Gioconda’s  ear.  Then  springing  into 
the  little  carriage,  she  drew  her  veil  over  her  face  and  fell 
to  weeping  so  violently,  that  passers-by  would  have  sup- 
posed that  here  was  a daughter  being  carried  away  from 
her  parent’s  house  against  her  will,  to  offer  her  young  heart 
as  a sacrifice  to  Heaven. 

'‘She  reminded  you  of  something  more  that  you  were 
to  tell  me  ; I heard  it  distinctl3\  Wlmt  is  it  about?  ” asked 
the  father,  who,  controlling  his  emotion  with  a great  effort, 
was  gazing  after  the  carriage  as  it  rolled  away. 

"She  wanted  you  not  to  let  Cassandra  suffer  for  her 
fault,”  said  his  wife  timidly,  as  she  turned  back  into  the 
house,  that  they  might  no  longer  afford  a spectacle  for  the 
neighbors. 


BEPPE,  THE  STAR-GA2^ER. 


46 

‘‘Do  as  you  like  with  lieiy’  answered  the  law3^er,  fo 
lowing  her  over  the  threshold.  “You  know  you  are  th 
mistress  of  the  house.  It  would  in  fact,  have  been  n 
crime — if  the  old  fate — ” 

He  ceased  speaking,  and  went  into  his  study  with 
slight  bow  to  his  wife. 

The  day  wore  on  as  if  nothing  had  occurred,  onl 
there  was  one  vacant  place  at  the  table,  and  instead  of  th 
old  man-servant,  Cassandra  brought  the  dishes  in  from  th< 
kitchen,  with  her  eyes  so  red  and  swollen  that  it  was  eas^ 
to  see  how  in  spite  of  her  mistress'  kindness,  she  realizec 
her  guiltiness  and  attributed  Beppina’s  removal  to  hersell 

As  twilight  was  approaching,  Aristides  returned  wiO 
the  carriage,  the  convent  being  onl^^  a few  miles  distaif 
from  the  city.  He  brought  messages  from  the  reverenc 
Sister  and  the  Signorina  to  all  at  home,  and  a letter  to  tin 
master  of  the  house,  which  the  latter  took  with  him  intf 
liis  study,  where  he  first  opened  and  read  it. 

That  night  too  he  visited  the  Cafe,  although  Signor? 
Gioconda  was  thus  obliged  to  spend  this  first  evening  sr 
utterly"  and  entirel}"  alone.  But  he  onl}'  remained  there 
few  moments  to  speak  with  some  one  who  was  expecting 
him.  Then,  with  a plea  of  another  engagement,  he  left  the 
brilliantly-lighted  apartment,  which  resounded  Avith  talfc 
and  laughter,  to  stroll  alone  through  the  most  deserted 
streets  of  the  place.  He  walked  on,  either  looking  doAvn 
at  the  ground  or  up  at  tlie  stars,  which  he  knew  so  well. 
Without  any  definite  intention,  he  found  himself  on  the 
outskirts  of  the  city,  and  then  Avalked  on  a little  distaiK^e 
furtlier  into  tlie  quiet  country  night,  and  as  he  came  at 
last  to  a small  bench  standing  in  front  of  a garden  gate,  he 
sat  down  and,  leaning  his  liead  back  against  the  Avail.  gaA'e 
liimsell  iq)  to  a contemplation  of  the  heavens,  as  long  and 


BEPPE,  THE  STAR-GAZER. 


47 


aarnestly,  as  if  he  meant  to  forget  for  the  time  being,  every- 
thing connected  with  the  earth. 

Yet  his  senses  were  keenl}’  alert,  and  when  he  lieard 
:he  nearest  clock  strike  nine,  he  rose  rapidly  and  set  out  on 
iiis  homeward  way.  Fifteen  minutes  later  he  unlocked  the 
;loor  of  his  own  house. 

The  little  lamp  in  the  hall  which  stood  ready  for  him 
ixery  evening,  seemed  to  look  at  him  inquiringly  as  if  ask- 
ng  w^hy  he  had  returned  so  early  this  evening.  His  hand 
ihook  as  he  took  the  lamp  from  the  shelf,  to  light  his  wa}' 
ip  the  stairs.  He  walked  more  slowly  than  usual  and  was 
)bliged  to  stop  on  the  landing-place  of  the  next  story  to 
'ecover  his  breath.  When  he  reached  the  second  floor, 
vhere  the  apartments  of  Signora  Grioconda  and  her 
laughter  were  situated,  he  made  another  pause.  He  set 
lown  the  lamp,  the  flame  flickered  too  restlessly,  for  there 
vas  a window  open  in  the  hall,  and  the  night  breeze  swept 
ip  the  stair-case.  He  stood  there  listening  for  a while. 
Chen  drawing  a long  breath,  he  knocked  at  the  nearest 
loor. 

“Are  you  still  up,  Gioconda?  ” 

The  door  was  opened  immediatel}^ ; it  seemed  almost 
LS  if  some  one  must  have  been  standing  near  the  threshold 
nside  the  room,  listening  to  sounds  from  the  hall. 

“It  is  3"et  so  early,”  said  his  wife,  who  was  still 
Iressed  and  stood  before  him  with  downcast  eyes.  “Are 
oil  not  well,  that  you  have  left  the  Cafe  before  the  usual 
.our?” 

He  did  not  reply.  His  whole  soul  seemed  concen- 
rated  in  his  eyes,  as  they  rested  with  a peculiar  expression 
>n  the  beautiful  drooping  eyelids  of  the  motionless  woman 
)eside  him. 

“Gioconda,”  he  said  at  last,  “I — I have  a word  to  say 
0 you — tonight — it  has  haunted  me  all  day  long — I do 


48 


BEPPE,  THE  STAR-GAZER. 


not  know  why  I was  unable  to  utter  it.  You  have  dom 
something  superhuman— that  Beppina  might  not  hate  me, 
you  have  told  her — what  we  meant  to  keep  from  her  for- 
ever. She  is  a good  girl,  she  knows  that  she  must  onl}) 
love  you  the  more  for  this.  And  yet — perhaps  it  might 
have  been  better — perhaps  we  might  by  some  mildei 
means — ” 

He  paused ; his  heart  was  throbbing  so  violently  that 
he  could  feel  the  pulsations  in  his  temples.  He  hoped 
that  she  would  come  to  his  assistance  and  make  some  re- 
sponse. But  she  was  standing  before  him  equally  embar- 
rassed. The  blood  had  mounted  to  her  cheeks,  and  restored 
the  lovely  color  of  youth  to  the  soft  outlines  of  her  beauti- 
ful face,  which  was  as  blooming  as  of  old. 

^‘See  what  she  has  written  me,”  he  continued,  drawing 
Beppina’s  letter  out  of  his  pocket.  “ I know  her  well,  you 
know  her  too,  and  know  that  in  spite  of  her  buoyant 
spirits,  even  inclining  to  levity,  she  does  not  easily  change 
her  mind,  when  once  she  is  in  earnest.  And  now  she 
writes  me  this ! ” 

He  extended  the  unfolded  sheet  to  his  wife,  who 
stepped  up  to  the  light  with  it,  and  leaning  over  the  table 
read  the  following  lines  : i 

“After  all  I have  deceived  3^011,  Father  ! Forgive  me^ 
it  is  the  last  time  I shall  ever  grieve  you.  I shall  iieA^ei^ 
come  back  to  you,  I can  not  enter  the  house  again,  with 
the  consciousness  that  I alone  am  to  blame,  if  happiness 
does  not  dwell  within  it.  You  might  perhaps  have  par- 
doned my  mother  for  the  wrong  she  did  3^011,  if  the  sight  of 
me  had  not  daily  reminded  3^011  of  an  old  sorrow.  How 
could  I continue  to  stand  between  you  two?  0,  Father,  I 
love  in3"  mother  too  dearl3^  to  endure  a life  which  is  the 
cause  of  her  unhappiness.  And  you.  Father — you,  whom 
I worship — no,  I will  not  return  to  3'our  presence  agaia 


BEPPE,  THE  STAR-GAZER. 


49 


Here  in  the  convent  I will  seek  and  find  that  peace,  which 
the  world  constantl}^  menaces,  and  your  love — although  I 
am  not  worthy  of  it — ” 

The  paper  slipped  out  of  the  mother’s  hands,  before 
she  had  finished  reading  it.  Her  hot  tears  gushed  over  it. 
But  before  she  could  collect  herself  and  turn  to  her  hus- 
band again,  she  felt  herself  enfolded  in  a pair  of  loving 
arms. 

^‘Gioconda!”  he  faltered  in  a choked  voice — ‘‘My 
wife!  Shall  we  remain  solitary  to  the  end  and  leave  tlie 
child  solitary — shall  we  continue  to  orphan  her,  as  we  have 
led  this  widowed  existence,  for  half  our  lives  long?  ” 

A sob  from  the  depths  of  the  noble  woman’s  heart 
was  the  only  answer.  As  if  rendered  insensible  by  an  ex- 
cess of  joy,  she  sank  at  his  feet.  But  he  lifted  her  up  in 
his  arms  and  held  her  in  a loving  embrace,  not  to  release 
her  again. 

* * 

* 

Summer  had  come  again.  Doctor  Beppe’s  carriage 
was  standing  at  the  old  convent  gate,  to  which  the  rever- 
end Sisters  with  Aunt  Perpetua  at  their  head,  had  just 
accompanied  their  3"oung  guest,  Beppina,  with  many  regrets 
that  after  all,  this  daughter  of  the  world  would  never  be- 
come a nun,  notwithstanding  all  the  heavenly  grace  which 
seemed  to  have  illuminated  her  mind  at  first. 

The  young  girl’s  face  had  grown  more  earnest  and 
mature  during  her  novitiate,  but  now  her  eyes  shone  bright 
and  tearless,  though  she  had  enjoyed  so  much  that  was 
good  among  the  kind  sisters.  When  the  parting  was  at 
length  over  and  the  honest  Aristides  was  cracking  his  whip 
to  urge  the  brown  horses  into  a quicker  trot,  her  first  ques- 
tion was,  how  her  parents  were  prospering. 

“You  will  not  recognize  your  father,  Signorina,”  said 


50 


BEPPE,  THE  STAR-GAZEB. 


the  old  man  with  a smirk,  as  he  turned  half-way  around 
toward  Beppina.  “ Everybody  says  he  has  grown  a dozen 
years  younger  since  the  miracle  was  wrought  and  you  were 
presented  with  a little  sister.  Now,  your  Mamma  is,  to  be 
sure,  quite  a young  woman  yet,  and  I who  know  her  so 
well,  can  bear  witness  that  she  still  has  all  of  her  beautiful 
golden  hair,  and  on  the  street  for  instance,  when  she  is 
taking  a quick  walk,  she  could  easily  be  taken  for  ten 
years  ^^ounger  than  she  really  is.  And  little  Grioconda — 
Cospetto  ! She  is  the  most  perfectly  formed  little  creature, 
and  laughs  alread}-  as  rationally  as  if  she  were  three 
months  old  instead  of  three  days,  and  then  to  see  the 
Doctor  laugh,  when  he  carries  the  little  thing  around  in 
his  arms — You  will  be  astonished,  Signorina  ! The  whole 
house  is  transformed.  There  is  only  one  thing  you  may| 
perhaps  not  like — you  are  to  sleep  upstairs  in  your  Papa’s ' 
little  room.  ^ Is  the  Signorina  going  to  learn  star-gazing; 
too?  ’ I made  so  bold  as  to  ask,  for  one  can  venture  to^' 
joke  with  the  master  now.  Said  he  : M think  she  won't 
have  any  objections.  She  knows  that  many  things  which 
seem  mysterious  to  people  on  earth,  grow  clear  when  one 
is  familiar  with  the  stars.’  Is  it  really  so,  Signorina?”  J 


MARIA  FRANCISCA. 

[From  the  German  of  Paul  Heyse.] 


Copyright,  1885,  by  l.  schick. 


We  had  slept  almost  the  whole  of  the  hot  summer 
day  away  in  the  close,  lumbering  stage-coach,  for  the 
windows  were  too  narrow  for  ns  to  feast  our  eyes  with  any 
comfort  on  the  cloudless  outlines  of  the  mountain  range 


we  were  approaching,  and  for  weeks  past  the  dust  and  heat 
had  been  parching  the  intervening  country.  My  friend, 
the  artist,  sat  opposite  me  in  a state  of  defiant  weariness 
and  melancholy  suspension  of  all  his  faculties,  and  sprang 
out  of  his  sultry  quarters  with  an  emphatic  exclamation  of 
delight,  when  we  stopped  at  evening  in  front  of  the  post 
house  of  the  last  village  at  the  threshold  of  the  mountains. 
Throwing  his  valise  down  beside  mine  in  a corner  of  the 


office,  he  pulled  me  immediately  out  into  the  cool  street 
again. 

The  place  had  that  promiscuous  look  which  is  only  to 
be  found  in  such  outposts  of  the  plain  that  are  crowded  up 
among  the  foothills.  The  houses  seemed  to  be  well  pro- 
tected against  the  climate  of  this  elevated  region,  some 
being  entirely  covered  with  a scaly  coat  of  mail  composed 
of  shingles,  their  roofs  weighted  down  with  stones,  while 
others  were  decked  out  with  all  the  superficial  elegance  of 
I city  buildings.  A swift-flowing  brook  ran  through  the 
I centre  of  the  town,  and  it  was  so  clear  that  we  could  not 
I resist  the  temptation  to  cool  our  dusty  hands  in  it  In 


6 


MARIA  FRANCISCA. 


doing  this,  my  friend  produced  a very  singular  and  alarm- 
ing appearance,  as  in  stooping  over,  his  hair  fell  down  over 
his  face  and  blended  with  his  beard,  so  that  he  looked  as  if 
he  were  some  mighty  water-god,  with  springs  in  his  head 
and  face.  A closer  inspection,  to  be  sure,  revealed  that 
this  ^errific  growth  of  hair  did  not  harmonize  with  the 
childlike,  sensuous  expression  of  his  countenance.  If 
shorn,  he  could  have  passed  quite  well  for  a pretty  girl 
still,  in  spite  of  his  thirty-six  years.  And  it  was  the  same 
way  with  him  in  regard  to  his  inner  nature.  It  could 
indeed  be  said  that  he  had  cut  his  eye-teeth,  for  where  it 
was  necessary  to  inspire  respect  in  others,  he  was  never  at 
a loss.  But  in  regard  to  the  rest,  with  that  old  hero  who 
was  renowned  for  his  locks,  he  shared  the  weakness  that 
many  a Philistine  had  succeeded  in  outwitting  him  and 
many  a Delilah  had  known  how  to  wound  his  unsuspect- 
ing heart. 

When  he  had  rinsed  off  the  day’s  dust  and  rising  to 
his  feet,  enjoyed  the  pure,  fresh  evening  breeze  that  was 
blowing  through  the  streets,  he  felt  entirely  refreshed,  and 
laughed  over  the  uncomfortable  journey.  Taking  my  arm  he 
strolled  along  the  street  beside  the  brook,  studying  the  blue 
sky  as  it  turned  to  gray.  “I  am  as  happy,”  he  exclaimed, 
“as  a caterpillar  that  has  escaped  from  some  school- 
boy’s box,  and  crept  into  a green  shrub,  where  it  intends 
to  turn  into  a chrysalis  without  satisfying  the  desire  for 
knowdedge  of  any  pr^dng  human  eje.  You  shall  see  how 
fleet  I shall  be  tomorrow,  when  our  walking  tour  begins.” 

I rejoiced  at  his  cheerful  mood ; for  when  I had  met 
him  four  weeks  before,  after  a separation  of  several  3^ears, 
I had  been  quite  disturbed  at  the  depression  that  was 
weighing  down  his  mind.  It  is  true  I knew  b}'  mere  hear- 
say that  he  had  lost  his  wife  in  the  meanwhile.  I had 
never  met  him  during  the  years  of  his  married  life,  and  as 


MARIA  FRANCISOA. 


7 


people  usually  do  not  like  to  speak  of  their  dead  loved 
ones  except  to  those  who  were  at  least  acquainted  with  the 
appearance  of  the  departed,  I avoided  making  any  inquiries 
about  his  sorrow.  It  was  mainly  to  divert  his  mind  that  I 
had  so  eagerl}^  made  all  the  arrangements  for  the  moun- 
tain trip,  and  I now  saw  with  great  satisfaction,  that  every- 
thing bade  fair  to  go  according  to  my  wishes. 

While  we  were  strolling  thus  aimlessly  along,  and 
looking  about  us  on  all  sides  with  the  attentiveness  that 
one  bestows  on  even  the  most  insignificant  objects  at  the 
commencement  of  a journey,  we  discovered  near  the  out- 
skirts of  the  town  a low,  one-story  house,  covered  with  a 
flat  roof  in  Italian  fashion.  An  awning  was  stretched 
across  on  top,  and  under  it  a number  of  men  were  sitting 
drinking  wine.  Over  the  door  an  oddly-carved  metal  sign 
was  swinging,  with  the  rude  inscription:  “Puppet-show 
and  Rosolio,  kept  by  Alessandro  Tartaglia.”  We  were 
both  longing  for  the  breezy  place  above,  where  we  also 
hoped  to  study  the  people,  who  are  full  of  sensational  ele- 
ments, and  as  no  means  of  ascent  could  be  espied  from  the 
outside,  we  entered  the  tavern  which  was  not  particularly 
clean.  A confusion  of  strange  voices  reached  our  ears, 
while  we  were  greeted  at  the  same  time  by  an  offensive 
mixture  of  odors  of  the  most  varied  brewed  and  distilled 
beverages,  that  almost  took  our  breath  away.  To  the  left 
of  the  entrance  a clums}^  counter  or  bar  had  been  erected, 
behind  which  a pale  woman  was  sitting,  her  dark  hair 
loosely  arranged  and  an  infant  at  her  uncovered  lireast. 
She  was  gazing  absently  into  a glass  of  red  wine  that  was 
standing  before  her,  from  which  she  drank  from  time  to 
time.  On  the  shelves  behind  her  were  bottles  of  various 
kinds,  whose  contents  gleamed  in  all  colors.  A spinning- 
wheel  was  leaning  up  in  the  corner,  a yellow  cat  asleep  on 
the  treadle,  still  holding  firmly  in  its  sleep  a thread  it  had 


8 


MARIA  FRaNCISCA. 


pulled  out  of  the  yarn.  The  woman  too  seemed  to  be  half 
asleep.  At  least,  she  looked  at  us,  as  we  entered,  with  an 
absent,  inhospitable  glance,  scarcely  nodding  her  head, 
and  busied  herself  with  the  child  that  was  growing  restless. 

Our  attention  too  was  drawn  to  the  rest  of  the  para- 
phernalia of  the  establishment.  A large  number  of  country 
people  and  mountaineers  were  sitting  or  standing  in  front 
of  quite  a large  box  of  puppets  at  the  back  of  the  room, 
which  certainly  looked  fantastic  enough  with  its  tw^o  dim 
candles  at  the  side,  and  the  little  stage  lighted  from  above. 
It  was  skillfully  arranged  in  such  a way  that  no  one  passing 
the  house,  and  casting  a glance  into  the  bar-room,  could 
help  seeing  the  glaringly  painted  faces  of  the  puppets. 
But  the  context  of  the  play  could  onl}^  be  understood  by  . 
entering  and  listening  intently.  For  the  voice  of  the  pro- 
prietor, Alessandro  Tartaglia,  seemed  to  have  lost  not  a 
little  in  fullness  of  tone,  owing  to  the  circumstance  that  he 
combined  the  saloon  business  with  the  puppet-show,  to  say 
nothing  of  the  fact  that  the  language  which  issued  from 
his  hoarse  throat  was  a dubious  medley  of  German,  French 
and  Italian  sentences,  of  which  sense  could  only  be  made 
by  some  little  practice. 

While  our  eyes  were  still  vainly  seeking  a stairw^a}^  to 
the  roof  and  we  stood  uncertain  whether  to  go  or  to  sta}^ 
the  outer  row  of  the  attentive  audience  had  noticed  us,  and 
with  involuntaiy  politeness  had  made  way  for  us  among 
them.  It  could  have  been  no  unusual  thing  for  strangers 
to  pass  an  evening  in  this  place,  for  before  we  knew^  wdiat 
we  were  about,  we  found  ourselves  pushed  forward  to  a ; 
vacant  bench  directly  in  front  of  the  stage,  where  we  then  ? 
had  to  sit  down  whether  we  wanted  to  or  not.  I for  mv  i 
part  submitted  willingly  to  the  honor.  The  lively  motions  ^ 
of  tlie  grotesque  figures  that  were  acting  some  tragedy  of  -• 
Ariosto’s,  and  did  not  alter  their  jaunty,  laughing  faces  or  ; 


MARIA  RRANCISCA. 


9 


their  expression  of  profound  gravit}',  even  in  the  most  ani- 
mated flogging  scenes,  seemed  very  comical  to  me.  When 
I had  become  more  familiar  with  the  jargon  of  the  ^‘per- 
forming artist,”  T admired  his  skill  in  changing  his  voice 
and  the  number  of  shrieking,  squealing,  lisping  and  snarl- 
ing tones  at  his  command,  which  at  times  aroused  the 
highest  enthusiasm  among  his  audience.  However,  the 
more  contagious  the  merriment  of  the  pla}’  became  to  me 
in  spite  of  the  stifling  atmosphere  in  the  gloom}^  hole,  the 
more  restless  and  gloom}"  grew  the  face  of  my  friend.  He 
twisted  uneasily  around  on  the  bench,  and  turned  crossly 
to  see  whether  escape  was  not  possible,  and  when  he  saw 
the  living  wall  which  had  closed  again  inflexibly  behind 
us,  he  gnawed  his  heavy  moustache  and  closed  his  e3"es. 
Not  even  the  most  successful  joke  of  the  invisible  owner  of 
the  voice  had  power  to  coax  a smile  from  him. 

So  the  piece  went  on  to  its  conclusion,  and  the  impos- 
ing tragedy  of  the  flnale,  which  piled  up  all  of  the  figures 
tliat  had  taken  part  in  the  play  in  a heap  of  rags,  did  not 
flul  to  produce  the  deepest  impression  upon  the  spectators. 
All  at  once  however,  a hand  that  looked  colossal,  appeared 
above  the  field  of  the  dead  and  swept  off  from  the  stage 
with  its  whole  crowd  of  heroes,  queens  and  clowns,  all  the 
mists  of  poetic  illusion.  Then  a stirring  and  moving  was 
perceptible  behind  us,  such  as  usually  precedes  the  break- 
ing up  of  such  an  assembly,  until  the  shrill  sound  of  a 
bell  at  the  back  of  the  stage  attracted  our  attention  once 
more.  From  the  depths  of  the  box  a head  then  made  its 
appearance,  gigantic  also  in  comparison  with  the  propor- 
tions of  the  side-scenes,  and  of  such  peculiar  aspect  that  I 
was  in  doubt  for  a moment  whether  a living  soul  were  con- 
cealed behind  this  mask  or  not.  The  short  black  hair 
stood  stiffl}^  on  end,  a large  scar  on  the  forehead  extended 
from  the  eyes  over  to  the  l)ack  of  the  head  and  iiad  made 


10 


MARIA  PRANCISCA. 


for  itself  a broad  red  clearing  in  the  black  bushy  growth. 
The  e^'es  moved  rapidly  but  automatically  in  the  long,  nar- 
row sockets,  the  grinning  open  mouth  disclosed  two  rows 
of  dazzlingiy  white  teeth,  the  rings  in  the  ears  sparkled — a 
combination  of  brutality  and  good-natured  jollity  was  ex- 
pressed so  singularly  in  every  line  of  the  head,  that  it  had 
almost  the  appearance  of  one  of  those  exaggerated  studies 
that  painters  of  the  Dutch  school  are  so  fond  of  making. 

The  owner  of  this  head  gazed  out  into  the  dark  tavern 
for  a while  through  the  frame  of  the  stage,  and  seemed  to 
be  taking  note  of  the  faces,  so  that  no  one  could  get  away 
without  paying.  He  then  spoke  in  his  monotonous  pro-, 
fessional  tone:  “Tomorrow  we  present  una  hrava  Conir 
media  lirica^  called  Castruccio  Castracani.” . . . . Here  the 
announcement  ended  as  abruptly  as  if  it  had  been  cut  off. 
The  showman  had  at  length  discovered  the  two  strangers, 
who  had  been  below  his  line  of  vision,  as  they  were  sit-j 
ting  so  far  forward.  I noticed  that  his  eyes  were  fixed  in 
speechless  consternation  upon  my  friend  wdio,  on  his  side, . 
was  scrutinizing  the  features  in  the  box  more  calmly,  but 
by  no  means  indifferently.  This  mutual  mysterious  recog- ; 
nition  lasted  but  a moment.  Then  the  puppet-man  dived  [ 
down  like  a flash,  the  long  curtain  which  hung  down  in ; 
front  of  the  platform  moved,  and  right  in  front  of  us  stood' 
the  thick-set  figure  of  Mr.  Alessandro  Tartagiia  himself,  in  t 
shirbsleeves  and  bare  feet.  ' 

I had  risen,  for  I felt  as  if  a cat  that  had  been  feign- 
ing innocence  for  a while,  were  suddenl}'  preparing  to 
si)ring.  My  friend  however,  remained  immovable  in  liis 
seat,  onl}^  I saw  him  grasp  his  stout  walking-stick  with  its 
long  iron  point  more  firml}^  in  his  hand.  All  apprehem^ 
sions  were  groundless  however,  for  after  the  first  shock  of. 
surprise,  tlie  tavern-keeper’s  comical  face  cleared,  and  with 
a friendly  grin  he  said  : “ Cite  diavolo!  So  it  is  not  3"our 


MARIA  FRANCISCA. 


11 


ghost,  Professor,  but  reall}^  the  son  of  3’our  mother  him- 
self? Aspetta^  aspetta^  in  two  minutes  I shall  be  at  your 
i service.  I have  midte  cose,  miilte  cose  to  tell  3^011.’* 

I ‘‘I  have  no  business  with  3^011,”  growled  the  painter. 

I “If  I had  known  that  3^011  haunted  this  smok3"  den — ten 
wild  horses  could  not  have  dragged  me  in  here,  Caiiuccio.” 

“ Hush  ! ” said  the  man  la3ing  his  broad  finger  on  the 
painter’s  lips.  “My  name  is  Sandro  Tartaglia,  let  me  in- 
form 3^011,  and  don’t  you  forget  it.  Are  3^011  afraid?  Do 
you  think  I am  going  to  pa3"  3'OU  back  for  the  pretty  draw- 
, ing  3^011  made  on  m3"  forehead?  ” 

The  other  shook  his  stick  significantly  and  muttered : 
“You  Gnl3"  got  what  you  had  richl3'  deserved  before.  Be- 
sides I tell  3"OU  once  for  all — I am  done  with  3-011.  You 
can  take  it  as  3-011  think  best.  This  will  pa3-  for  toda3-’s 
performance,  and  we  will  let  by-gones  be  by-gones.” 

He  tossed  him  a few  twent3--centime  pieces  and  rose 
to  his  feet.  But  the  fellow  at  once  seized  him  and  poured 
into  his  ear  a stream  of  ejaculations  in  some  muffled  Italian 
dialect,  that  sounded  to  me  like  Neapolitan.  The  painter 
passivel3-  allowed  it  to  fiow  on  for  some  time.  One  sen- 
tence, however,  seemed  to  excite  him  strangely.  He 
glanced  keenh-  at  the  offlcious  fellow  and  put  a question  to 
him  in  the  same  dialect.  At  the  reply  his  face  grew  still 
more  gloom3-,  but  his  curiosit3^  did  not  seem  to  be  3^et  sat- 
isfied. He  passivel3-  allowed  himself  to  be  pushed  down 
on  the  little  bench  again,  and  leaning  his  head  on  his 
g^walking  stick  so  that  his  hair  fell  over  his  face,  he  sat  in 
yfront  of  the  platform  oblivious  to  what  was  going  on 
around  him,  and  full  of  anxiet3-.  I inquired  what  this  all 
meant.  “I’ll  explain  afterwards!”  he  answered  hastil3-. 
“Then  I will  go  up  on  the  roof  in  the  meanwhile  and  wait 
for  3 011  there,”  1 said,  and  while  the  proprietor  was  going 
around  with  the  plate,  I ascended  a staircase  in  the  corner 


Maria  francIs^A. 


12 

from  which  I soon  emerged  into  the  open  air  under  the 
awning  on  the  roof. 

The  incomprehensible  adventure  that  m^^  friend  had 
encountered,  together  with  the  oppressive  heat  in  the  aparh 
ment  below,  had  given  me  a sort  of  vertigo,  which  only 
passed  gradually  away  as  I lay  on  a bench  close  to  the 
railing  around  the  roof  and  slowly  inhaled  the  fresh  even- 
ing air  heavy  with  perfumes  from  the  little  garden  bloom- 
ing below.  The  waiter  who  was  serving  the  guests  at  the 
other  table— men  prominent  in  the  lower  ranks  of  societ}^ 
— placed  some  bread  and  a bottle  of  black  Lombardy  wine 
on  the  table  beside  me  and  left  me  to  my  meditations.  I 
was  not  in  a mood  to  intrude  myself  upon  the  conversation 
of  the  company  opposite  me.  Nor  did  it  escape  my  atten-; 
tion,  that  they  treated  me  rather  distrustfully  and  lowered  5 
their  voices  at  my  approach.  Accordingly  I turned  my-, 
gaze  to  the  other  side,  where  the  mass  of  the  nearest? 
mountain  range  was  growing  perceptibly  dimmer  and  dim- ' 
mer  in  the  twilight,  while  above  their  smmits  the  stars 
were  softly  coming  out  one  b}"  one.  I enjo^^ed  watching 
for  the  sudden  flashing  forth  of  each  single  star,  at  the ' 
same  time  keeping  in  my  mind  the  number  that  were( 
already  visible,  till  it  finall}^  seemed  to  me  all  at  once  as  if  | 
the  innumerable  eyes  of  the  Armament  were  twinkling  at ; 
me  as  if  making  fun  of  me,  and  I sank  into  a dreamy,  ? 
motionless  revery,  oblivious  of  the  world  around  me.  At  "' 
intervals  I would  weaken  out  of  this  state,  aroused  perhaps 
by  some  louder  exclamation  from  m}^  companions.  Theif 
I would  rack  my  brains  as  to  what  my  friend  could  possi-- 
bly  have  to  discuss  so  long  and  so  important  with  this  out- ' 
lawed  rascal  of  a tavern-keeper,  and  as  I could  think  of 
nothing  under  the  sun  that  could  explain  it,  I would  aban- 
eon  myself  anew  to  the  sensation  of  delicious  rest  which  is 
so  refreshing  after  a day’s  journey  in  a stage-coach. 


MAHIA  FRANCISCA. 


13 


In  this  way  an  hour  or  more  might  have  elapsed.  The 
others  arose,  poured  the  dregs  of  their  wine  over  the  railing 
on  the  trees  in  the  garden  and  left  all  together,  without  tak- 
ing ail}"  notice  of  me.  I heard  them  go  noisily  down  the  nar- 
row stairway,  and  then  I expected  to  see  m}^  friend  appear 
at  any  moment  from  the  depths  below.  But  I had  plenty 
of  time  after  that  to  empty  another  bottle  of  wine  and  to 
:lo  full  justice  to  a dish  of  trout.  The  last  sound  around 
me  had  died  awa}",  even  the  frogs  had  finished  their  con- 
3ert,  and  I was  just  considering  whether  it  would  not  be 
advisable  to  see  how  matters  were  going  down  stairs,  for 
die  burlesque  visage  of  the  tavern-keeper  afforded  but  poor 
^ecurit}"  that  other  free  arts  were  not  practiced  in  the  estab- 
ishment  to  which  the  sign-board  took  good  care  not  to 
nvite  the  customers’  attention.  Just  then  the  waiter  re- 
ieved  my  uncertainty  by  calling  me  down  stairs,  where 
die  other  gentleman  was  waiting  for  me. 

I found  a dubious  illumination  in  the  saloon,  proceed- 
ng  from  a brass  lamp  which  stood  on  the  counter  in  front 
)f  the  woman.  The  child  had  fallen  asleep  long  ago  and 
vas  l3dng  on  its  mother's  lap,  while  she  was  spinning 
Jowly  and  awkwardl3\  A few  stragglers  were  pla3dng 
lards  in  the  bare  corner  opposite,  while  a ragged  fellow 
;Jretched  out  on  the  bench,  was  snoring  aloud.  Not  until 
L had  paced  up  and  down  for  quite  a while  in  the  dreaiy 
[ipartment  and  had  vainl3^  sought  to  draw  the  woman  into 
conversation  with  me,  did  the  door  in  a side  partition  open, 
ind  m3"  friend  appear  at  the  showman’s  side.  I saw 
hrough  the  open  door  that  the3"  had  been  sitting  with  a 
candle  at  a table  upon  which  a large  glass  full  of  red  wine 
vas  standing  untasted.  M3"  friend  at  once  seized  my  arm 
ind  strode  without  lingering  to  the  door.  On  the  thresh- 
>ld  he  turned  around  again  and  seemed  to  wish  to  sa3" 
lomething  more.  Alessandro  Tartaglia  was  acconipan3"ing 


14 


MARIA  FRANCISCA. 


US.  His  obsequious  gestures  were  so  lithe  and  flexible 
that  the  image  of  a cat  was  again  called  to  my  mind.  H 
assured  us  of  his  humblest  devotion,  to  which  the  artis 
responded  with  a hasty  wave  of  his  hand.  He  then  close( 
the  door  behind  us  and  we  w^ere  standing  outside  in  tli 
deserted  street  under  the  starry  sky. 

I could  plainly  distinguish  some  profound  sorrow  in  th 
features  of  my  friend,  and  the  tone  of  his  voice  confirme( 
me  in  the  idea  that  his  conversation  with  the  tavern-keepe 
must  have  affected  him  deeply.  As  we  walked  slowl; 
toward  the  post-house  arm  in  arm,  he  asked  me  to  set  oil 
with  him  at  once  and  walk  on  a few  hours  while  the  nigh 
lasted.  He  said  he  was  not  in  the  least  tired,  and  he  hate( 
the  idea  of  shutting  himself  up  in  a suffocating  room.  ' 
consented  gladl}^  and  we  were  soon  wending  our  way  witj 
vigorous  strides  toward  the  mountains,  with  our  knapsack! 
on  our  backs.  The  road,  which  shone  before  us  like 
white  stripe  in  the  increasing  darkness  continued  for  quitli 
a distance  on  level  ground.  It  was  lined  with  apple-trees| 
behind  which  extended  fields  of  grain  and  pastures  ii| 
the  starlight,  alive  with  immense  swarms  of  crickefe 
ceaselessly,  almost  passionately,  vying  with  each  other  i| 
their  chirping.  Not  until  the  road  approached  the  foo| 
hills,  did  it  grow  quieter  around  us.  Here  however,  in;' 
friend  suddenly  threw  his  knapsack  down  from  his  shoii| 
ders,  cast  himself  down  beside  it  in  the  damp  grass  am 
while  I stood  helpless  beside  him,  abandoned  himself  U 
the  most  unbounded  grief,  that  found  violent  expressioi 
in  tears  and  groans. 

I did  not  venture  to  utter  a word,  nor  did  I stir,  ii 
order  that  he  miglit  give  unrestrained  utterance  to  his  sor 
row.  At  length,  the  violent  attack  seemed  to  have  passec 
over.  He  raised  liimself  partiall}^,  looked  around  him  anc 
up  toward  me,  and  held  out  his  hand  to  me,  while  the  tea« 


MARIA  FRANCISCA. 


15 


were  still  pouring  from  his  eyes.  Not  until  then  did  I 
speak  soothingly  to  him,  and  I soon  succeeded  in  getting 
him  to  stand  up  and  shake  off  with  one  violent  effort  his 
tears,  the  dcAV,  and  his  effeminate  weakness.  ''Forgive 
me,”  said  he,  "but  it  had  to  come  out.  I could  choke  back 
these  tears  before  that  wretched  scamp  of  a tavern-keeper. 
But  here  in  the  darkness,  alone  with  you,  they  would 
force  their  way  out.  Come,  let  us  start  on  again.  When  I 
tell  you  all  about  it,  you  will  comprehend  how  this  came 
upon  me  unawares  and  overwhelmed  me  so  irresistibly.” 

We  continued  on  our  way  more  slowly,  and  after  quite 
a pause  he  spoke  again. 

, "You  know,  dear  friend,”  he  said,  "that  I have  had 
some  strange  experiences  in  the  last  few  years,  but  you 
cannot  have  heard  the  particulars.  Nor  do  my  other 
friends  know  anything  about  the  truth  of  the  matter.  I 
never  was  one  to  write  letters,  and  since  we  separated  that 
evening  in  Dusseldorf,  I have  had  no  settled  abiding  place, 
but  have  led  a wandering,  gypsy  life. 

" On  that  very  evening  however,  the  unfortunate  oc- 
‘currences  began  that  sent  me  forth  on  my  wanderings,  and 
ithis  evening,  unexpectedly  enough,  was  destined  to  solve 
:the  last  mystery  connected  with  them.  I took  it  very 
deeply  to  heart  that  time  that  I was  obliged  to  part  from 
; you.  When  I saw  the  carriage  roll  away  with  you,  I stood 
on  the  same  spot  for  a long  while  and  considered  how  very 
solitary  you  left  me.  You  had  always  supplied  me  so 
bountifully  with  all  the  intellectual  food  that  one  needs  to 
sustain  life,  even  though  one  is  ' only  an  artist.’  I got  along 
with  the  light-headed  and  moustachioed  fellows  who  wanted 
I to  be  my  brothers  in  art,  simply  because  I could  dispense 
: with  them  entirely  as  long  as  you  were  with  me.  I felt  a 
horror  now  of  being  dependent  upon  these  good  and  hon- 
est fellows  alone,  and  of  becoming  one  of  them  perhaps  in 


16 


MARIA  FRANCISCA.  ' 


the  end.  And  so  as  soon  as  your  carriage  was  out  o1 
sight,  anxious  thoughts  of  flight  arose  within  me,  and  ] 
vowed  to  myself  to  flnish  only  what  I wrs  at  work  upon 
just  then — possibly  you  remember  that  dancing-scene  from 
the  October  festival  in  Rome — and  then  to  shake  the  dusi 
from  off  my  feet  and  seek  a permanent  change  of  air. 

“ 111  such  a mournful  frame  of  mind  it  sometimes  hap- 
pens that  people  grasp  at  things  the  most  opposed  to  theii 
taste,  simply  to  feel  the  firm  ground  of  every-day  life  undei 
their  feet  again.  Therefore  when  I passed  by  a rope- 
dancer’s  booth,  to  which  up  to  this  time  I had  never  vouch- 
safed even  a single  glance,  I did  not  pause  a moment  to 
reflect,  but  went  right  in  as  if  impelled  by  destiny. 

“ The  performance  had  but  just  begun,  and  a little  six 
year  old  fellow  was  going  through  his  part  under  the 
supervision  of  his  father,  the  director  of  the  troupe.  l’ 
looked  on  with  painful  sensations.  The  efforts  to  smile 
and  be  graceful  while  his  equilibrium  was  still  a matter  of 
uncertainty,  imposed  a certain  restraint  upon  the  pretty 
boy,  which  in  my  eyes  spoiled  everything.  I drew  a long 
breath  when  the  child  Anally  sprang  to  the  ground,, 
eagerli"  picked  up  the  candy  that  was  tossed  to  him  and 
ran  off  with  some  comical  little  bows.  ; 

“It  was  then  Bajazzo’s  turn.  It  was  then  that  I be-* 
held  the  rascally  face  of  my  friend  Alessandro  Tartaglia' 
for  the  first  time,  and  upside  down  at  that,  for  he  rvalkedi 
in  upon  his  hands.  I must  confess  that  I was  not  dis- 
pleased with  the  scamp  on  that  occcasion.  Although  he 
must  have  been  taught  his  art  a long  time  before  with  the 
whip,  as  the  little  boy  was  then  acquiring  his,  j'et  the 
stripes  had  healed  over  long  ago,  and  at  that  time  it  would 
have  been  necessari'  to  flog  him  well  to  keep  him  from  the 
delightful  practice  of  his  talents.  Moreover  he  made  all 
his  jokes  in  that  Neapolitan  dialect  that  smacks  so  of 


MARIA  FRANOISCA. 


17 


oysters  and  boiling  oil,  mixing  with  it  onl}"  a few  French 
sentences,  and  his  gestures  were  so  strongly  suggestive  of 
the  clowns  in  San  Carlino,  that  I was  really  quite  amused, 
much  to  my  surprise,  and  during  the  insipid  performances 
of  the  rest  kept  this  fellow  constantly  in  view. 

“ The  troupe  was  not  very  numerous.  Besides  the  four 
children  of  the  director,  who  had  converted  his  German 
name  Ebert  into  Eberti,  there  appeared  only  Bajazzo,  a 
beauty  b}"  the  name  of  Clelia,  very  much  faded,  and  a negro, 
with  a magnificent  physique  who  performed  gymnastic 
feats  between  the  dances.  I will  not  go  into  details  how- 
ever, although  whenever  I recall  that  evening,  every  trivial 
circumstance  rises  vividly  in  my  mind.  Suffice  it  to  say, 
that  after  all  the  numbers  on  the  program  had  been  played 
except  the  last,  and  the  two  younger  Misses  Eberti  had 
also  given  proof  of  their  great  security  and  shamelessness 
on  the  tight  rope,  they  appeared  again  in  the  concluding 
act  with  the  eldest  daughter  who,  according  to  the  play 
bill,  was  named  Maria  Francisca,  to  execute  a pas  de  trois 
on  three  ropes  stretched  side  by  side. 

At  the  first  glance  this  eldest  sister  seemed  to  me 
the  most  insignificant  member  of  the  whole  company.  She 
was  somewhat  slenderer  than  her  sisters,  but  seemed  to 
move  the  most  awkwardly  of  the  trio  as  she  came  on  the 
stage  between  them.  While  the  sparkling  eyes  of  the 
others  were  wandering  in  every  direction  trying  as  best 
they  could  to  elicit  some  spark  of  admiration,  and  display- 
ing some  tender  understanding  with  certain  adorers  on  the 
front  seats  perhaps,  Maria  Francisca’ s eyes  were  cast  down 
upon  the  floor  with  a shy  pride.  Her  face  was  by  no 
means  beautiful.  She  inherited  from  her  father  her  low 
brow,  large  mouth  and  pale  complexion.  But  the  shape 
and  radiance  and  expression  of  her  eyes  made  up  for  all 
defects.  I liked  too  the  way  she  was  dressed ; she  wore 


18 


MARIA  FRANCISCA. 


a white  dress — a hand’s  )3readth  longer  perhaps  than  her 
sisters’  floating  muslin  draperies — belted  in  with  a black 
ribbon  embroidered  with  golden  stars,  and  a similar  ribbon 
around  her  modestly  covered  throat,  with  a narrow  silver 
crown  on  her  forehead,  while  her  black  hair  was  cut  short 
all  around. 

“But  you  should  have  seen  her  as  she  swung  herself 
up  on  the  rope  and  the  uncouth  awkwardness  which  I had 
noticed  as  she  entered  fell  off  from  her  all  at  once.  J ust  as 
in  a conflagration  the  flames  dart  up  to  the  topmost  ridge 
of  the  house,  she  climbed  and  swayed  and  leaned  over,  dart- 
ing upward  with  a light  swinging  motion,  until  it  seemed  as 
if  she  received  that  electric  elasticity,  from  the  rope,  each’ 
time  she  touched  it  with  the  tips  of  her  toes.  The  sym-; 
metry  and  the  delicate  outlines  of  her  form  enraptured  me,' 
as  they  were  revealed  more  and  more  in  the  dance.  To  be' 
sure,  her  arms  alone  were  entirely  exposed,  but  we  painters? 
know  that  Nature  in  most  cases  casts  the  entire  frame  iifl 
the  same  mold  and  is  not  in  the  habit  of  lavishing  perfect 
limbs  on  stunted  bodies.  Besides  this,  the  flowing  gar- 
ments, that  were  evidently  intended  to  conceal  the  contour . 
of  the  figure  as  much  as  possible,  could  not  long  resist 
her  impetuous  movements,  and  clinging  closer,  revealed^ 
the  most  enchanting  figure,  at  least  to  the  eyes  of  ai 
connoisseur.  ' 

“As  the  girl’s  face  grew  flushed  it  increased  in, 
thoughtful  and  at  the  same  time  passionate  earnestness,  i 
and  I thought  to  myself  what  a treat  it  would  be  to  see 
her,  in  the  costume  of  a Greek  dancing  girl,  perform  one 
of  those  pantomimes,  of  which  we  come  across  a descrip- 
tion now  and  then,  but  of  which  we  are  only  able  to  I 
form  a vague  conception  nowadays,  owing  to  our  present  j 
wretched  comprehension  of  the  art  of  dancing.  This 
brought  the  October  Festival  tJhat  I was  painting  to  my 


MARIA  FRANCISCA. 


19 


mind,  and  the  more  my  e3^es  dwelt  upon  the  entrancing 
figure  of  the  dancer,  the  more  intensely  I longed  to  get 
hold  of  a sheet  of  paper  and  a cra^^on  somewhere,  to  retain 
a few  of  her  most  exquisite  movements.  Her  sisters,  who 
played  various  antics  about  her,  were  entirely  lost  sight  of 
by  me,  and  when  they  finally  even  took  the  wreaths  of 
roses  from  their  heads,  and  flung  the  separate  flowers 
among  the  spectators  as  they  danced^a  fitting  emblem  of 
their  frivolity — the  eldest  was  really  sublime  in  compar- 
ison, as  she  stood  still  with  her  arms  crossed  upon  her 
bosom,  and  then  kneeling  upon  the  rope  she  suddenlj^ 
sprang  down  and  escaped  all  the  applause  and  encoring. 

‘‘  When  the  sisters  were  called  out  at  the  conclusion  of 
the  performance,  the  younger  ones  appeared  alone,  and  I 
learned  from  the  man  sitting  next  me  that  the  eldest  always 
did  that  wa}'  and  probably  thought  it  made  her  all  the 
more  interesting. 

“With  this  the  performance  came  to  an  end.  But  I 
did  not  think  of  leaving  yet.  I felt  that  I must  that  very 
night  learn  for  a certainty  whether  I was  always  to  depend 
onl}^  on  what  anybod^^  could  see  here  for  a few  groschen^  or 
whether  I might  succeed  in  feasting  my  longing  eyes  more 
abundantl3\  This  did  not  seem  to  me  particularly  difficult. 
A number  of  my  friends  had  had  the  negro  for  a model, 
and  judging  from  what  I had  seen  of  the  director,  his 
daughters,  each  one  according  to  her  talents,  were  none 
too  good  in  his  eyes  to  help  fill  his  purse.  Nor  did  an}' 
kind  of  wishes  foreign  to  my  art  mingle  with  my  longing, 
and  I would  have  submitted  to  the  father’s  escort  without 
any  objections. 

“So  while  Bajazzo  was  distrustfully  eyeing  me 
askance,  I sought  the  director  in  the  space  partitioned  off 
at  the  end  of  the  stage  which  contained  the  wretched 
abode  of  the  chief  performers,  together  with  the  dressing- 


20 


MARIA  FRANCISCA. 


room.  I acquainted  him  with  my  wishes  without  any  cir- 
cumlocution, and  offered  him  quite  a sum  of  money,  if  he 
would  bring  his  daughter  to  my  rooms  for  a few  sittings. 
The  man  listened  attentively  and  grinned  at  my  offer. 
Propositions  of  this  kind  seemed  to  be  no  new  thing  to 
him.  He  asked  me  to  sit  down  on  a trunk,  and  regaled 
himself  from  a wine-glass  that  he  poured  full  of  brandy, 
while  I went  on  to  speak  of  the  harmless  character  of  my 
intentions ; finally,  as  he  stopped  familiarly  in  front  of  me 
with  his  hands  in  his  trowsers  pockets,  he  remarked  that 
this  was  a peculiar  matter.  True  it  flattered  his  paternal 
heart  that  an  artist  like  myself  considered  his  dear  child 
so  fine  looking  that  he  should  wish  to  paint  her,  but  this 
oldest  daughter  of  his  had  a very  strong  will  of  her  own 
and  always  wanted  to  have  things  her  own  way.  Either! 
one  of  his  j^ounger  daughters  would  consider  it  an  honor 
to  contribute  so  much  to  art,  and  he  proposed  that  I should, 
first  try  one  of  them.  But  when  I told  him  that  it  was  the^ 
oldest  alone  I wanted  to  paint,  he  made  an  odd  sound  with 
his  tongue,  held  out  his  hand  to  me,  which  I overlooked 
however,  and  begged  me  to  wait  for  him  where  I was.  At 
all  events  he  was  her  father  and  would  do  what  he  could. 

“He  at  once  stepped  into  one  of  the  side  rooms  andj 
left  me  in  a strange  ill-humor.  The  whole  affair  seemed 
to  me  all  at  once  in  this  father’s  presence,  disgraceful  and  ! 
wrong.  I arose  and  walked  to  and  fro  in  the  low-ceiled  - 
apaitment.  In  one  corner  on  a scanty  bed  of  straw  cov- 
ered with  a ragged  cloak,  lay  the  little  boy  who  had 
opened  the  performance.  He  was  asleep  and  of  course 
had  not  heard  anything  of  my  intentions  in  regard  to  liis 
sister.  He  was  still  grasping  one  of  the  boxes  of  candy 
that  had  been  thrown  him.  The  sugar  plums  in  them  had 
perhaps  been  his  entire  supper.  As  I saw  the  poor  child 
lying  thus,  in  his  sleep  drawing  nearer  to  a future  that 


31AKIA  FRANCISCA. 


21 


would  obliterate  the  stamp  of  purity  and  human  dignity 
from  his  brow  and  imprint  in  their  place  the  brand  of  the 
slave,  I seemed  in  my  own  eyes  a wicked  wretch,  that  I 
should  wish  for  my  own  part  to  help  to  impel  this  family 
further  outside  the  bounds  of  simple,  honest  morality,  and 
for  filth}’  lucre’s  sake,  to  humiliate  the  only  one  in  this  cir- 
cle who  still  seemed  to  experience  any  consciousness  of  her 
degradation.  I was  on  the  point  of  stealing  silently  out 
of  the  shanty,  when  some  disconnected  words  of  the  con- 
versation in  the  next  room  detained  me.  I heard  this 
model  father,  evidently  to  show  me  that  he  was  doing  all 
in  his  power,  declaiming  in  a loud  voice  upon  the  subject 
of  the  high  aim  which  sanctified  this  brief  setting  aside  of 
modesty.  He  reeled  off  such  an  absurd  rigmarole  about 
art  and  artists  that  I would  have  wanted  to  laugh,  if  the 
matter  had  not  seemed  to  me  entirely  too  contemptible. 
After  he  had  then  concluded  in  a lower  tone,  saying  that 
she  must  be  his  good  little  girl  and  not  let  her  father  suf- 
fer, when  such  an  easy  and  profitable  means  of  earning 
money  was  offered,  I heard  nothing  for  some  time  but  the 
sound  of  stifled  sobbing,  and  then  the  distinct  words,  im- 
ploringly repeated  again  and  again : ‘ For  the  love  of 

Christ,  not  that,  of  all  things,  not  that!  The  Madonna 
will  never  let  you  fall  into  such  straits,  that  you  will  have 
to  force  me  into  that ! Father,  I will  dance  a whole  year 
longer,  I will  try  and  learn  to  smile  as  my  sisters  do,  so 
that  you  need  not  say  any  longer  that  I scare  people  away 
with  my  face ; but  in  the  name  of  all  the  saints,  do  not  in- 
sist upon  that ! ’ 

should  long  since  have  hastened  to  calm  the  poor 
girl  and  put  an  end  to  the  matter  once  for  all,  if  the  ex- 
pressions of  religious  enthusiasm  in  this  place  had  not 
surprised  me  more  than  they  aroused  my  compassion. 
Besides,  there  was  such  a wonderfully  touching  quality  in 


22 


MARIA  FRANCISCA. 


the  voice  that,  to  my  shame  be  it  confessed,  I almost 
wished  that  the  old  man  would  urge  her  again,  simpl}^  that 
I might  hear  her  plead  and  lament  still  longer.  The  con- 
versation became  unintelligible  however,  and  I only  heard 
the  girl  exclaim  once  : ‘Does  Carluccio  know?  He  would 
never  consent.  Father,  never  ! ’ — I had  already  seen  this 
name  on  the  program ; it  belonged  to  Bajazzo.  But  how 
came  this  degraded  clown  to  have  so  much  authority  in 
the  family,  even  in  the  daughter’s  eyes?  For  I presently 
found  that  she  had  not  appealed  to  him  in  vain,  when  the 
old  man  appeared  again,  and  announced  to  me  with  an 
angry  shrug  of  his  shoulders  and  silent  imprecations  upon 
his  own  soft  heart,  that  his  daughter,  as  I had  probably 
heard,  would  not  consent  to  it  at  an}'  price,  the  silly  girl ! 
However,  he  would  not  give  up  hope  yet,  and  would  let 
me  know  of  the  results  of  his  endeavors ; but  I was  not  to 
say  a word  about  it  outside.  He  hastily  whispered  this  ! 
last  to  me,  just  as  Bajazzo  entered  the  room,  and  hurried  ' 
me  out  almost  impolitely,  so  that  I scarcely  had  time  to  ! 
beg  him  to  let  the  matter  rest,  and  not  trouble  his  daughter  ' 
with  it  any  further. 

“You  can  imagine  in  wdiat  a low-spirited  state  of  - 
mind  I returned  home,  and  how  provoked  I was  with  my-  I 
self.  Was  it  not  enough  that  T had  lost  a friend  that  . 
evening?  Must  I needs  lose  at  the  same  time  the  inno-  ' 
cent  balance  of  mind,  which  alone  makes  life  endurable  in 
solitude?  You  will  laugh  at  me  for  taking  the  matter  so 
deeply  to  heart.  If  you  had  been  there,  you  would  proba- 
bly soon  have  reasoned  away  this  sentimentalism  of  mine, 
as  you  had  so  often  done  before.  There  now  remained 
only  the  one  consolation  for  me,  which,  thank  God  ! always 
comes  to  my  rescue  in  time  of  need.  3Iy  phlegmatic  tem- 
perament prevailed  over  my  harrassed  nerves,  and  I fell 


MARIA  FRANCISCA. 


23 


asleep  as  peacefully  as  if  I had  sustained  no  loss  and  had 
nothing  to  repent. 

However,  as  soon  as  I awoke  the  next  morning,  the 
mood  of  the  previous  evening  returned.  I sat  down  before 
my  easel  and  rejoiced  at  my  discovery  that  my  picture  was 
simpl}^  wretched — by  wa}^  of  a penance,  as  it  were.  This 
was  not  a difficult  task.  When  I compared  these  dancing- 
girls  from  Trastevere  with  my  remembrance  of  Maria 
Francisca,  they  seemed  more  likel}^  to  be  engaged  in  a 
regular  St.  Vitus’  dance  than  in  a gay  Saltarello.  One  of 
the  figures  that  happened  to  be  resting  one  arm  upon  the 
hip  in  precisely  the  same  attitude  that  the  eldest  Miss 
Eberti  had  occasionally  assumed,  struck  me  as  so  intoler- 
able, that  T scratched  it  off  the  canvas  without  a moment’s 
delay.  The  central  figure  alone,  which  I had  considered 
the  most  idealized,  still  held  its  own,  with  the  exception  of 
the  neck  which  looked  to  me  very  awkardly  set  on  the 
shoulders.  While  I was  reflecting  how  much  that  beauti- 
ful figure  would  have  benefited  me  as  a model  for  such 
details,  as  the  rope-dancer's  throat  and  the  poise  of  her 
head  were  especially  incomparable,  I happened  to  think 
that  I might  gain  this  advantage  at  least  without  injuring 
the  poor  girl  in  any  way.  She  could  certainly  be  per- 
suaded to  give  me  a sitting  in  costume,  and  in  this  way  I 
hoped  best  to  be  able  to  prove  to  her  that  I had  really  r(‘- 
garded  her  only  with  an  artist's  eye. 

“My  mood  suddenly  became  a cheerful  one,  and  I 
went  down  town  to  carr}"  out  my  project  immediately.  I 
noticed  however,  that  it  was  still  very  early,  and  did  not 
wish  to  arouse  the  people  in  the  booth,  who  had  well  earned 
their  sleep,  at  such  an  untimely  hour.  I therefore  strolled 
along  a few  streets  further,  to  wait  till  the  da}^  had  waxed 
somewhat,  and  entered  the  old  cliurch  which  stands  next  to 
the  Carmelite  Convent.  Some  incense  lingering  in  tiie  air 


24 


MARIA  RRANCISCA. 


from  early  mass  enticed  me  in.  * The  cool,  dimly-lighted 
place  was  quite  empty,  the  windows  glowing  softly  in  the 
rays  of  the  morning  sun,  and  some  swift-winged  church 
swallows  were  darting  about  the  capitals  of  the  pillars  to 
their  nest,  which  the}^  had  cunningly  built  in  the  topmost 
flower  of  the  canopy  over  the  pulpit.  I seated  myself 
close  to  the  entrance  in  the  rear-most  pew,  and  presentl}^  it 
seemed  to  me  as  if  I could  see  the  slender  figure,  that  kept 
haunting  my  mind,  moving  with  dancing  steps  along  the 
edge  of  the  farthest  pew,  then  gliding  with  a light  spring 
to  the  next,  and  thus  floating  over  all  of  them  in  turn  till 
it  reached  the  lighter  foreground  and  vanished.  Not  long 
afterwards  however,  the  graceful  apparition  again  made  its 
appearance,  but  this  time  high  up  on  the  cornice  that  pro- 
jected far  beyond  the  columns,  and  now  it  danced  out  to  j 
the  extreme  edge,  where  it  again  vanished  into  nothing. 
While  tills  was  going  on,  I was  examining  mvself  and  • 
attempting  to  keep  up  within  me  the  visionary  self-decep- 
tion, to  enjo}^  this  pleasure  longer,  when  suddenl}^  there 
arose  from  one  of  the  confessionals  in  the  back-ground  the 
figure  of  a woman  that  I had  entirely  overlooked  up  to  this  ; 
moment,  as  with  her  dark  dress  she  had  not  been  dis- 1 
tinguishable  in  the  deep  shade.  A few  moments  after  an  j 
old  priest  left  his  seat  within  the  confession-box  and  went  ^ 
back  into  the  choir.  The  woman  however,  dropping  the  i 
veil  on  her  hat,  approached  the  door  after  a low  bow  in  the  ‘ 
direction  of  the  high  altar. 

As  she  passed  b}",  without  casting  a glance  of  her 
downcast  eyes  upon  me,  I started  in  strange  confusion,  for 
I recognized  distinctly  through  her  veil  the  features  of  the 
eldest  Miss  Eberti,  and  her  walk,  besides  left  no  room  for 
doubt.  I collected  my  senses  soon  enough  not  to  lose 
sight  of  her,  and  followed  her  through  the  nearest  streets, 
hesitating  all  the  time  whether  to  address  her  or  not.  At 


MARIA  FRANCISCA. 


25 


length  in  a veiy  narrow  street  there  was  a deky  occasioned 
by  a hand-cart  that  blocked  the  way.  I stood  beside  her  for 
a while,  expecting  that  we  should  be  allowed  to  pass  on, 
and  could  see  that  she  had  not  recognized  me  in  the  slight- 
est. When  we  were  able  to  proceed  on  our  way,  I spoke 
to  her  with  the  utmost  politeness,  calling  her  Miss  Frnn- 
cisca  and  apologizing  for  taking  the  liberty  of  accompany- 
ing her,  as  I was  about  to  call  upon  her  father.  She  then 
looked  at  me  for  the  first  time  and  stood  still  a moment. 
Fear,  aversion  and  consternation  were  expressed  in  her 
face,  so  that  I likewise  stopped  and  asked  in  alarm, 
whether  she  were  ill.  She  shook  her  head.  ‘ Leave  me, 
she  suddenly  exclaimed,  ‘You  are  mistaken,  sir,  if  you 
suppose  that  I am  not  able  to  defend  myself  against 
humiliations.  These  morning  hours  at  least  belong  to  me 
and  to  Heaven.  If  you  are  seeking  the  rope-dancer,  come 
to  the  performance  this  evening.’ 

“ I comprehended  all  at  once  that  she  had  recognized 
me  by  my  voice,  and  was  expecting  proposals  from  me 
similar  to  those  I had  made  through  her  father.  Instead 
of  leaving  her  however,  I told  her  earnestly  and  miniitel\ 
how  repentance  had  overtaken  me  and  that  m3"  visit  to  hei 
father  was  intended  mainly  for  herself,  that  I might  clear 
myself  in  her  eyes.  She  listened  with  an  unmoved  though 
not  incredulous  face,  but  did  not  vouchsafe  me  a glance 
again  till  I began  to  speak  of  the  boy  and  how  his  un- 
troubled slumber  had  sent  a pang  to  m3"  heart  the  night 
before.  She  sighed,  but  said  nothing  and  continued  to 
walk  on  slowly  by  my  side.  I found  time  yet  to  beg  to  be 
allowed  to  make  a drawing  of  her  in  costume,  and  she  an- 
swered neither  3"es  nor  no.  Finall3'  as  we  were  drawing 
near  to  the  more  frequented  streets,  she  whispered  to  me  : 
‘I  entreat  3-011  to  leave  me  now.  But  if  you  are  sincere  in 
all  you  have  said,  come  to  cliurch  again  tomorrow.  I want 


26 


MARIA  FRANCISCA. 


to  see  whether  1 can  confide  in  3^011.  I am  so  alone  in  the 
world,  3^011  cannot  imagine  how  terribl3"  alone.  Perhaps 
3^011  will  not  consider  me  unworth3^  of  3^oiir  advice  and 
assistance.  And  if  3 on  wish  to  prove  to  me  that  there  was 
no  deceit  in  3' our  words,  sta3^  away  from  the  performance 
tonight.  Promise  me  this  ! ’ 

“ She  hastil3"  extended  her  slender  white  hand  to  me, 
which  I cordially  grasped  instead  of  making  any  protesta- 
tions. Then  I saw  her  hurriedly  disappear  in  the  crowd 
of  people  going  to  market. 

“It  seemed  as  if  the  day  would  never  end.  I was 
obliged  to  exert  m3^  will  considerabl3"  that  evening  to  re- 
frain from  going  in  spite  of  her  request,  to  the  rope- 
dancer’s  booth,  where  she  was  to  go  through  a dance  alone. 
When  the  wretched  music  inside  had  died  awa3"  and  every- 
thing was  dark  again,  I stole  around  to  the  place  and  laid 
my  ear  against  the  slight  board  partition  at  the  end  of  her 
chamber.  It  was  easy  to  distinguish  that  she  was  repeat- 
ing her  pra3^ers ; I also  heard  the  sound  of  beads  slipped 
along  a rosary.  Then  the  door  inside  was  thrown  noisily 
open,  Carluccio,  the  bajazzo,  shouted  something  in  his  vari- 
egated jargon  which  I did  not  understand,  the  voice  of  the 
old  man  interfered,  and  the  noisy  scene  ended  with  the  ' 
father’s  dragging  the  obtrusive  fellow  away,  who  seemed  * 
to  be  very  much  intoxicated ; after  this  the  bolt  of  the  ; 
chamber-door  was  shot  to,  and  after  a pause,  the  mur-  ; 
mured  prayers  became  audible  again.  I cannot  tell  you 
how  man3^  conflicting  moods  and  thoughts  there  were 
within  me.  I almost  wished  tliat  I had  never  set  e3xs 
upon  this  problematic  girl,  for  the  atmosphere  in  which 
she  lived  breathed  riotousness  and  rottenness,  and  I had 
always  had  an  innate  liking  for  purity.  Besides,  my 
feeling  for  the  girl  was  an3Thing  but  love  or  even  liking 
for  her.  The  fact  that  I kept  thinking  of  her  was  due  to 


MARIA  FRANCISCA. 


27 


the  singular  contradiction  between  her  nature  and  her 
surroundings,  and,  not  to  do  myself  an  injustice,  com- 
bined certainly  with  a profound  compassion  at  seeing  her 
wrestling  and  struggling  against  conditions  wliich  yet  I 
could  not  hope  to  alter. 

“ So  I went  to  the  church  again  early  the  next  morn- 
ing, rather  with  the  sentiment  of  performing  a sad  dut}^, 
tlian  of  obeying  any  kind  of  an  attraction.  On  this  occa- 
sion mass  was  not  quite  over  3'et  ; I saw  a few  isolated 
pews  filled  with  Carmelite  nuns,  and  to  m^^  great  astonish- 
ment my  little  friend  w^as  close  beside  them.  Indeed  she 
seemed,  while  her  head  was  bowed  upon  her  liook,  to  l)e 
cariying  on  an  animated  conversation  with  the  one  seated 
next  to  her,  whose  snow}^  white  cap  with  its  broad  flaps 
was  turned  in  her  direction.  When  the  service  was  over 
and  the  other  Sisters  returned  to  the  convent,  the  one  with 
whom  Francisca  was  talking  remained  behind  for  perhaps 
a quarter  of  an  hour,  and  then  closed  the  confhreiK^e  with 
a gesture  as  if  of  blessing,  and  imprinted  a kiss  upon  tlie 
brow’  of  tlie  girl  who  stood  humbl}’  before  her. 

‘‘I  waited  in  silence  at  the  entrance  to  the  church  and 
let  her  pass  me,  as  if  we  had  never  seen  each  otlier  before. 
Onl^’  when  she  reached  the  same  short,  narrow  street 
through  which  we  had  passed  the  day  before,  wliere  a gate, 
opened  into  a deserted  coui^ard,  did  she  stop  and  wait 
for  me  and  enter  with  me  into  this  confidential,  out-of-the- 
wa}’  nook.  She  first  thanked  me  for  keeping  my  promise 
the  previous  evening,  whereupon  I was  frank  enough  to 
confess  to  having  listened  at  the  board  partition.  Her 
colorless  face  flushed  scarlet.  She  said,  I had  indeed  in 
this  wa}’  almost  forfeited  the  right  to  her  confidence 
again,  but  it  was  done,  and  she  would  now  be  oliliged 
to  initiate  me  into  all  of  her  misery,  tliat  T might  not 
wrong  her  liy  false  suppositions.  And  so  I learned  all 


28 


MARIA  FRANCISCA. 


about  her  situation  on  this  one  occasion.  She  had  lost 
her  mother,  to  whom  she  owed  all  the  nobler  impulses  of 
her  heart  and  mind,  while  still  very  young.  This  gentle 
woman  had  been  able  also  to  control  her  husband  and  his 
coarse  passions.  Since  her  death  Francisca  had  come  to 
i*ealize  the  wickedness  of  this  way  of  living,  in  addition  to 
her  grief  over  the  loss  of  her  mother.  A few  religious  ^ 
books,  which  had  fallen  into  her  hands  in  some  wa}^,  in-  I 
creased  her  anxiety  and  her  longing  to  retire  from  this  ' 
degrading  profession,  and  whenever  and  wherever  it  had 
been  possible,  she  had  sought  the  advice  of  priests  and 
noble-hearted  nuns,  in  order  to  consecrate  what  was  im- 
mortal in  her  at  least,  although  she  might  not  be  able  to 
extricate  what  was  mortal  from  her  father’s  power.  All 
her  attempts  to  sever  her  connection  with  the  troupe  and , 
be  spared  the  detested  exhibition  of  herself  by  entering 
upon  some  respectable  employment,  had  been  thwarted  by ! 
the  cool  selfishness  of  her  father,  who  did  not  want  to  lose ; 
his  best  dancer.  For  the  most  remarkable  part  of  it  all — 
for  which  she  reproached  herself  with  bitter  tears — was  that 
she  had  really  given  proofs  of  the  most  striking  talents  for 
this  art,  ever  since  her  earliest  years.  ^ Ah  ! ’ she  ex-  ^ 
claimed,  ^ my  heart  so  often  bleeds,  when  I feel  as  if  there  j 
were  two  natures  within  me,  a good  angel  and  an  evil  i 
spirit,  and  that  the  wicked  spirit  actual!}^  exults,  when 
am  on  the  tight  rope,  because  he  alone  is  ruling  me,  and  ; 
then  in  the  midst  of  m}^  reckless  leaps,  in  which  he  helps 
me,  m}^  guardian  angel  sudden!}^  looks  at  me,  sometimes 
in  the  form  of  some  honest  woman  sitting  in  one  of  the 
boxes,  sometimes  in  that  of  an  innocent  girl,  so  that  I 
cannot  jump  down  quick  enough  to  rush  to  my  chamber 
and  weep.’ 

took  her  hand,  while  her  tears  were  flowing,  andC 
said  to  soollie  her,  that  T could  not  discover  in  her  occu-^ 


MARIA  FRANCISCA. 


29 


pation — lightly  as  it  was  generally  esteemed — an}  thing 
dishonorable  in  itself.  It  depended  upon  the  way  in  which 
it  was  followed.  In  my  estimation  she  stood  all  the 
higher,  because  she  did  not  allow  herself  to  be  dragged 
down  into  the  mire  by  her  circumstances,  but  turned  her 
thoughts  toward  spiritual  matters. 

“‘You  talk  just  like  a man,’  she  replied.  ‘A  poor 
girl  has  nothing  that  she  ought  to  and  must  guard  more 
sacredly  than  her  person.  And  that  I am  obliged  to  allow 
any  one  that  comes  along  to  gaze  at  me  night  after  night 
for  money — that  I must  call  art  to  my  aid  that  he  may  not 
consider  his  money  thrown  away,  oh  ! it  is  shameful ! — 
that  alone  is  enough  to  drag  me  down  into  the  mire,  and 
it  can  never  be  wiped  off  nor  the  stain  removed.’ 

“ She  dwelt  upon  this  point  at  some  length ; among 
the  rest  she  compared  her  lot  with  that  of  singers  and 
actresses,  and  kept  reiterating  her  assertion  that  her  own 
wicked  delight  in  her  profession  while  she  was  practicing 
it,  was  to  her  the  most  intense  torture  of  it  all.  She  re- 
ferred merely  casually  to  the  penances  which  she  imposed 
upon  herself  for  this,  for  there  was  not  the  least  suggestion 
of  boastfulness  in  her  way  of  giving  expression  to  her 
relio;ious  reflections.  The  severe  and  strained  exaltation 
to  which  she  also  abandoned  herself  afterwards  was  a gen- 
uine relief  for  her  agonizing  and  apprehensive  spirit.  I 
admired  her  more  and  more,  and  the  hour  we  spent  in 
the  little  courtyard  behind  the  open  gate  passed  so  quickly 
for  me  in  listening  to  the  confessions  the  poor  girl  made 
me  from  the  depths  of  her  heart,  that  I did  not  remember 
until  after  she  had  left  me  at  length,  how  little  she  had 
communicated  in  regard  to  the  other  members  of  the 
company. 

“We  met  again  the  next  day  at  the  same  place,  and 
her  face  looked  into  mine  more  confidingly,  gratefully  and 


30 


MARIA  FRANCISCA. 


even  more  cheerfully.  She  extended  her  hand  to  me  at 
once  and  called  me  • my  friend  ’ several  times.  This  em- 
boldened me  to  ask  questions  and  unfortunately  1 learned 
more  than  I wanted  to  know.  Her  father  had  at  last  ceased 
to  protest  against  her  expressed  wish  to  go  into  a convent, 
as  she  had  declared  with  decision  that  if  he  prevented  her 
from  doing  so,  she  would  not  dance  any  more  and  would 
rather  suffer  the  worst  treatment  at  his  hands.  Thereupon 
a sort  of  treaty  had  been  concluded  between  them,  in  which 
she  pledged  herself  to  remain  with  the  company  until  l)y 
her  dancing  she  had  helped  to  raise  a certain  sum  of  , 
money.  With  this  sum  her  father  intended  to  defray  the 
expenses  of  some  enterprise,  the  nature  of  which  she  did 
not  confide  to  me,  and  then  he  would  give  her  his  permis- 
sion to  enter  a convent.  She  acknowledged  that  her  Evil 
Spirit,  as  she  called  him,  had  urged  her  to  this  agreement ; 
for  he  had  a horror  of  the  convent,  as  a matter  of  course, 
and  as  he  would  be  finally  subdued  by  the  Good  Spirit, 
he  had  at  least  secured  a reprieve  in  which  he  could  work 
his  own  will  with  her.  When  I asked  whether  this  delay 
would  last  much  longer,  she  shook  her  head  and  suddenly 
became  very  serious.  ‘ Alas  ! ’ said  she,  ‘ When  the  time 
comes  for  me  to  serve  the  Holy  Virgin  alone,  then  the 
hardest  part  is  before  me.  That  wretched  fellow.  Bajazzo, 
has  taken  a fancy  to  me,  and  unluckily  my  father  is  in  his 
power  on  account  of  some  compromising  affair  tliat  Car- 
luccio  knows  about.  Then  it  will  be  necessary  for  me 
to  decide  my  own  and  my  father’s  fate  at  once.  But, 
however  it  may  turn  out,  I will  never  be  the  wife  of  that  j 
dissolute  wretch,  though  it  should  be  the  ruin  of  us  all.’  ^ 
“She  expressed  only  the  greatest  coldness  and  con- 
tempt  for  her  sisters.  As  T afterwards  learned,  only  one  ^ 
ol*  the  gii-ls  was  the  daughter  of  the  old  man  by  a former 
prima  donna  of  the  troupe,  the  other  on  the  contrary  was 


MARIA  FRANCISCA. 


31 


some  strange  child  that  the  unscrupulous  Mr.  Eberti  had 
coaxed  away  from  some  poor  woman  with  whom  it  was 
boarding,  with  the  help  of  a certain  amount  of  money,  and 
had  thus  stolen  it  from  the  parents.  Carluccio  was  ac- 
quainted with  this  secret ; but  this  was  probabl}"  not  the 
only  one  by  means  of  which  he  had  the  famil}-  in  his 
power,  and  reminded  them  of  his  right  to  presume. 

“When  I reflected  in  solitude  upon  this  network 
of  shame,  danger  and  misery  in  which  the  poor  creature 
was  entangled,  I despaired  more  and  more  of  finding  a way 
to  rescue  her.  It  was  of  course  eas}'  to  invoke  the  jirotec- 
tion  of  the  Church,  which  would  certainly  have  been 
powerful  enough  to  ensure  the  security  of  a heart  that  was 
seeking  shelter  in  its  arms.  Then  too,  such  an  unusual 
circumstance  as  a rope-dancer’s  taking  the  A^eil,  without 
even  being  impelled  to  it  by  an  unhappy  love-affair,  prom- 
ised to  create  a sensation,  and  bore  so  nearly  the  sem- 
blance of  a miracle,  that  the  occurrence  would  certainly 
have  been  gladly  seized  and  made  the  most  of.  Howe\  er, 
even  if  the  danger  that  threatened  her  father  had  not  been 
so  great  from  this  sharer  in  his  crimes — I could  not  bring 
myself  to  believe  that  my  little  protegee  had  a genuine 
and  unmistakable  vocation  for  a conventual  life.  More 
and  more  did  it  seem  to  me  like  an  exaggerated  fancy  with 
which  she  occasionally  consoled  herself  in  imagination  for 
her  daily  suflerings — seeking  to  balance  one  extreme  with 
the  other.  That  strained  exaltation,  to  which  I have 
already  referred,  had  blended  with  all  its  sincerity  a touch 
of  the  recklessness  of  the  rope-dancer.  She  was  as  free 
from  dizziness  in  her  mind  as  on  her  feet,  and  felt  the 
need  of  pleasurable  excitement,  just  as  her  delight  in  leap- 
ing through  the  air  was  an  innate  quality  of  her  physical 
nature.  It  seemed  to  me  that  her  only  hope  of  salvation 
lay  in  a prompt  marriage  with  some  kind  and  honest  man. 


32 


MARIA  FRANCISCA. 


some  woodsman  or  farmer  for  example,  with  whom  she 
would  have  plenty  of  opportunities  for  exercising  in  the 
open  air,  and  even  jumping  on  horseback,  while  in  the 
country  quiet  she  would  be  as  far  removed  from  perform- 
ers’ booths  as  from  nunneries.  But  where  was  an  honest 
fellow  of  this  kind  to  be  found  at  a moment’s  notice,  one 
who  besides,  would  not  be  prejudiced  against  her?  And 
was  there  not  also  the  additional  query  as  to  whether  she 
would  be  contented  with  such  a man? 

I noticed  also  to  my  regret  that  she  was  becoming 
more  and  more  attached  to  me,  while  I,  at  that  time,  really 
only  wished  to  play  the  part  of  a fatherly  confidential 
friend  to  her.  Not  a trace  of  intentional  advances  or  sud- 
den reserve  on  her  part  betrayed  this.  Her  glance  how- 
ever, and  her  eager  restlessness  when  I happened  to  be  a 
few  minutes  late  at  our  rendezvous,  her  perfectly  passive 
actions  in  compliance  with  my  wishes  and  advice,  and  her 
daily  increasing  disinclination  to  put  an  end  to  our  inter- 
views, all  this  showed  me  plainly  how  matters  stood.  It 
was  natural  enough  that  she  should  passionately  recipro- 
cate the  first  unselfish  sentiment  that  had  ever  been  enter- 
tained for  her.  And  you  can  readilj^  understand  that  it 
did  not  lower  her  in  my  estimation.  But  I considered  alf 
ideas  of  devoting  my  life  to  her  as  idle  fancies,  and  onej 
evening  in  a reflective  mood  I examined  my  mind  and 
heart  conscientiously,  in  order  to  come  to  some  definite 
conclusion  in  regard  to  the  whole  affair. 

“When  I arrived  the  next  morning  however,  at  the 
quiet  garden-gate,  armed  with  the  most  excellent  reasons 
why  a continuance  of  our  intercourse  would  be  injurious  to 
both  of  us,  and  saw  her  at  length  coming  toward  me  down 
the  narrow  street,  her  unusual  appearance  impressed  me 
even  while  she  was  still  quite  a ways  off.  She  grasped  my 
hands  impetuousl}",  drew  me  into  the  courtyard  and,  hold- 


MARIA  FRANCISCA. 


33 


ing  my  hand  all  the  time,  threw  back  her  veil.  Her  eyes 
were  red  with  weeping,  her  cheeks  still  glistened  with  tears, 
and  her  full  lips  were  passionately  quivering.  ‘ It  is  all 
over,’  she  burst  forth,  ‘I  have  no  longer  any  hope,  death  is 
before  me,  and  I shall  have  to  succumb  ! ’ — For  the  first 
few  moments  I could  get  nothing  else  out  of  her.  I put 
my  arm  around  her  as  if  to  protect  her — I had  never  done 
anything  of  the  kind  before — and  insisted  upon  being  in- 
formed as  to  what  had  happened.  Then  she  told  me  what 
was  almost  too  despicable  for  belief  The  old  man  had 
been  gambling  with  Carluccio  the  night  before  and  had 
lost  his  last  dollar  to  him.  Previous  obligations  of  this 
kind  had  always  been  set  down  in  the  general  account; 
but  this  time  the  wretch  had  insisted  upon  his  claims  being 
satisfied  at  once,  or  else  having  Maria  Francisca  given  to 
him  for  his  wife.  If  neither  demand  were  complied  with, 
he  said  he  would  open  wide  the  box  in  which  he  preserved 
the  secrets  of  the  troupe  and  would  invite  the  city  author- 
ities to  inspect  its  contents.  The  result  of  this  was  that 
her  father  had  rushed  into  her  room  in  the  middle  of  the 
night,  partially  sobered  by  these  threats,  and  had  an- 
nounced to  her  that  it  was  all  over  with  the  convent  plan, 
in  an}^  case,  for  she  must  and  should  become  the  wife  of 
her  well-known  suitor  before  a week  had  passed.  To  all 
reminders  of  the  old  compact,  to  all  her  prayers  and  en- 
treaties, he  had  only  replied  with  a fierce  roar  of  rage  and 
hatred  toward  his  future  son-in-law,  who  was  even  more 
obnoxious  to  him  than  to  his  poor  daughter. 

“After  having  confessed  all  this  to  me,  she  begged 
me,  for  the  love  of  Christ,  not  to  let  her  be  dragged  down 
into  this  hell  upon  earth  but  to  take  her  life ; thus  she 
would  see  whether  I really  felt  any  friendship  for  her. 
Her  religion  forbade  her  to  put  an  end  to  her  own  life,  and 
yet  she  could  not  continue  to  live.  She  would  go  with  me 


34 


MARIA  FRANCISCA. 


to  my  apartments  and  there  I might  perform  this  last 
friendly  service  for  her.  With  these  entreaties  there  was 
such  a despairingly  dark  light  in  her  eyes,  that  they  might 
have  impelled  some  men  to  commit  the  maddest  of  crimes. 
However,  I still  retained  command  of  my  reason,  and 
lirushed  awa}^  these  wild  fancies  without  ceremon}',  advis- 
ing and  urging  her  to  seek  refuge  in  flight.  The  miscreant 
would  certainly  not  carry  his  deviltry  so  far  as  to  make 
her  father  suffer  for  something  of  which  he  was  innocent. 

I begged  her  in  God’s  name  to  seek  out  some  secluded  con- 
vent where,  for  the  present,  she  could  be  concealed,  and 
afterwards  take  the  veil.  She  listened  to  all  this  with  in- 
telligent consideration,  and  her  desire  to  die  seemed  sud-  ’ 
denl}^  to  cool  off.  When  I finally  offered  her  all  the  assist- ; 
ance  that  lay  in  my  power,  she  looked  up  at  me  with  eyes  ; 
full  of  relief  ‘ Ah  ! ’ she  said,  • now  I am  going  to  become  a ' 
burden  to  my  friend,  and  shall  lose  him  on  that  account ! ’ , 
I stroked  her  cheeks  soothingly,  feeling  firmly  convinced  ? 
the  while  that  all  this  was  a dispensation  of  Providence  in 
my  behalf  which  would  sever  these  relations  between  us 
that  had  begun  to  grow  dubious.  I promised  to  accom- 
pany her  to  the  threshold  of  her  place  of  shelter  and  to  i 
take  all  the  consequences  upon  myself.  \ 

“ These  words  effected  a complete  transformation  in  i 
her.  Her  countenance  actually  beamed,  she  spoke  of  her  , 
flight  like  a child  that  is  to  go  into  the  country  again  for  ! 
the  first  time  after  a long  winter.  Now  and  then  to  be 
sure  a shadow  flitted  over  her  face.  However,  she  had  no 
doubt  of  the  success  of  our  plan,  indeed  she  interpreted  all 
manner  of  dreams  and  visions  she  had  previousl}^  had,  as 
indicative  of  a prosperous  result.  And  when  a cross  old 
woman,  who  had  sometimes  shown  herself  at  the  only 
window  overlooking  the  little  courtyard  without  inter- 
fering with  us  in  any  way,  opened  the  little  window"  today 


MARIA  FRANCISCA. 


35 


and  ordered  us  out  of  her  yard  with  some  sharp  words,  we 
looked  upon  this  as  the  most  positive  sign  from  Heaven 
that  our  stay  in  the  place  was  not  to  last  much  longer. 
We  had  just  finished  making  the  final  arrangements  and 
we  then  separated  with  the  significant  words  : ‘ Goodbye 

till  tomorrow  ! ’ It  was  far  from  being  advisable  to  take 
the  night  for  our  fiight,  for,  as  she  confessed  to  me  with 
some  embarrassment,  the  jealous  Carluccio  had  sought  her 
in  her  room  more  than  once  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  or 
had  sent  her  father  to  her  upon  some  pretext.  And  even 
during  the  early  morning  hours  he  would  certainly  have 
kept  watch  over  her,  if  he  had  not  been  obliged  to  sleep 
oflT  his  intoxication. 

^‘For  this  reason  she  was  to  pretend  to  get  ready  for 
church — only  an  hour  earlier  than  usual — and  call  for  me 
at  my  rooms.  A man’s  suit  and  an  artist’s  broad-brimmed 
hat  promised  to  afford  a more  secure  protection  for  her 
than  if  I had  spirited  her  away  in  a carriage  and  horses 
under  cover  of  the  darkness..  As  she  had  sometimes, 
before  we  had  become  acquainted,  spent  the  entire  day  un- 
til the  evening  performance  with  the  kind-hearted  Lady 
Superior  at  the  convent,  her  absence  would  not  be  noticed 
and  we  should  have  many  hours  before  us  to  gain  a con- 
siderable start  even  on  foot. 

“You  can  imagine  in  what  a dream-like  state  I went 
home.  To  tell  the  truth,  the  affair  was  not  at  all  repug- 
nant to  me ; what  troubled  me  most  was,  that  I believed  I 
had  discovered  that  day  for  the  first  time  a dawning  affec- 
tion for  her  in  my  heart.  Her  child-like  rejoicings,  her  im- 
plicit confidence  in  me  made  her  seem  infinitely  charming 
in  my  eyes.  ‘It  is  a good  thing,’  I said  to  myself  ‘that 
her  mind  is  so  set  upon  the  convent.  Who  knows  but 
what  it  might  not  in  time  come  to  seem  very  pleasant  and 
a real  duty  to  me  to  bring  back  into  a natural  shape  this 


36 


MARIA  FRANCISCA. 


little  being  so  warped  by  a false  system  of  self-education 
and  a total  lack  of  parental  training.  I should  have! 
something  to  be  proud  of  if  I succeeded  in  making  a^ 
rational  woman  of  her.  But  it  would  be  risky  in  any  case.’j 
‘^That  night  I slept  uneasily  and  kept  thinking  I 
heard  her  knocking  at  the  door.  When  she  at  last  really i 
did  knock — in  the  gra}^  twilight — I had  long  been  dressed 
and  was  preparing  our  breakfast.  She  slipped  in  with  a 
blushing  face  and  a childlike,  almost  uncontrollable  alarm, 
such  as  we  experience  in  playing  hide-and-seek  when  we 
are  young.  I had  resolved  for  the  safety  of  both  of  us, 
to  take  the  whole  affair  very  seriously  and  judiciously  and 
by  no  means  to  let  our  project  degenerate  into  a wild 
masquerading  frolic.  As  soon  as  she  perceived  this  dispo- 
sition in  me,  her  restless,  fluctuating  gayety  disappeared 
and  gave  place  to  a despondent  stillness.  She  took  a seat 
at  the  corner  of  the  table,  almost  like  a beggar  who  has 
been  called  in  from  the  street,  and  ate  but  little,  after  hav-' 
ing  first  softh^  murmured  a prayer  to  herself  She  scarcely 
ventured  to  look  around  the  room  and  kept  gazing  onl}^  at 
the  picture  on  the  easel  which  just  then  in  the  rosy  morn- 
ing light  presented  a very  creditable  appearance.  I opened 
my  wardrobe  and  asked  her  to  select  her  disguise.  A light; 
summer  suit  was  soon  chosen,  not  from  m}^  belongings, 
however,  but  from  among  poor  Horner’s  clothes— you 
doubtless  remember  him,  the  little  sculptor  who  was, 
drowned  while  bathing,  and  who  had  been  living  with  me 
for  some  time  before  his  death.  I carried  the  suit  for  her 
into  my  bed-room,  where  she  began  at  once  and  hurriedly 
to  change  her  attire.  While  I was  waiting  for  her  in  the 
next  room  I thought  how  strangelj^  it  had  come  about  that 
she  was  after  all  obliged  to  disrobe  in  these  ver}^  rooms, 
where  I had  first  hoped  to  draw  her  as  my  model.  How- 
ever the  consciousness  that  she  was  in  my  power  was  borne 


MARIA  FRANCISCA. 


37 


ill  upon  me  only  for  a moment.  Then  I remembered  the 
vows  I had  secretly  sworn  to  myself  and  remained  at  some 
distance  from  the  door  which  she  had  not  even  bolted. 

“And  my  patience  soon  had  its  reward.  For  the 
short  coat  and  light  trousers  in  which  she  now  issued  from 
the  chamber  w^ere  charmingly  becoming  to  her.  To  add 
the  finishing  touch  I put  a gray  felt  hat  on  her  shingled 
hair  and  gave  her  a portfolio  to  carry,  so  that  she  looked 
exactly  like  a jaunty  young  student  at  the  Academy.  The 
blood  rushed  to  her  cheeks  as  I scanned  her  with  evident 
satisfaction,  and  her  embarrassment  made  her  ga3^er  and 
gayer.  Before  long  we  had  left  the  house,  I being  like- 
wise laden  with  a portfolio  and  a small  satchel,  and  walked 
through  the  cool  streets,  which  were  still  almost  deserted, 
and  out  through  the  city  gate,  through  which  in  Duessel- 
dorf  a few  disciples  of  art  who  devote  themselves  to  land- 
scape painting,  can  be  seen  vanishing  every  day. 

“ The  old  people  with  whom  I resided  were  still  asleep 
when  Francisca  arrived.  The}"  had  long  been  accustomed 
to  my  going  away  without  leaving  word  when  I should 
return,  and  I had  put  the  girl’s  clothes  carefully  away, 
locking  them  up  in  a trunk.  So  I left  with  really  no 
apprehensions  of  our  being  discovered.  I had  not  formed 
any  very  definite  plan ; but  I had  firmly  resolved  not  to 
let  our  journey  take  us  beyond  Mayence  at  the  farthest, 
where  I intended  to  place  my  protegee  either  in  a convent 
or  in  the  safe  hands  of  an  elderly  lady  friend  of  mine.  I 
told  her  this,  and  she  listened  with  an  air  of  gratitude,  but 
without  making  any  response. 

“It  was  now  July  and  the  day  was  so  wonderfully 
clear  that  the  sun  soon  became  oppressive  to  us.  Accord- 
ingly I raised  the  gray  linen  umbrella  which  was  a part  of 
our  landscape-painter’s  outfit,  and  she  took  my  arm  with- 
out any  affectation.  When  we  saw  in  our  shadows  cast  in 


38 


MARIA  FRANCISCA. 


front  of  US,  the  strange  spectacle  we  presented  we  could 
not  help  laughing.  This  dissipated  completely  the  solemn 
frame  of  mind  in  which  we  had  left  the  city,  and  we  chatted 
just  like  a couple  of  good  comrades  who  had  gone  out  to 
enjoy  the  fresh  air  together  for  a da}^  In  the  wanderings 
of  her  father’s  troupe  she  had  traveled  over  a large  part  of : 
Germany,  a portion  of  France  and  all  of  Belgium,  and  yet 
she  had  seen  little  more  of  any  of  the  cities,  than  the 
streets  nearest  the  square  in  which  their  booth  stood,  and 
a few  churches  in  which  she  was  accustomed  to  pray  and 
to  go  to  confession.  In  this  way  she  had  obtained  an  ex- 
tremely odd  idea  of  these  cities,  such  as  might  be  got  from  i 
a stereoscopic  view  or  from  an  engraving.  Yet  she  could  ’ 
delineate  her  impressions  with  such  striking  power  of 
description  in  a few  words  that  it  amused  me  very  much;;l 
she  judged  people  by  the  few  limited  specimens  with  whom 
her  occupation  had  brought  her  in  contact.  There  is  a 
certain  class  of  coarse,  would-be  gallant  dandies  who  had 
approached  her  that  are  much  the  same  in  all  parts  of  the 
world,  and  our  gay  talk  grew  graver  as  she  related  some  of 
her  unpleasant  experiences  with  them. 

“She  gave  me  a long  and  animated  account  of  all  the^ 
kind  priests  and  nuns  who  had  taken  an  interest  in  lieri 
perturbed  soul.  She  congratulated  herself  upon  her  good^l 
fortune  which  she  now  thought  so  near,  in  communing ^ 
in  some  quiet,  sunii}^  cell  with  a higher  world  alone,  and  i 
only  contemplating  the  lower  world  from  a grated  pew. 
When  she  noticed  that  I coincided  in  this  renunciation  of 
the  w^orld  only  by  an  equivocal : ‘ Yes,  Yes  ! ’ she  changed 
the  subject  and  induced  me  to  talk  about  my  art.  I sought 
out  for  her  illustrations  of  this  and  that  elementary  princi- 
ple of  coloring,  light  and  drawing  in  the  country  through 
which  we  were  walking,  and  was  delighted  with  myself  to 
see  how  much  like  a pedagogue  I was  behaving,  although^ 

i 


MARIA  FRANCISCA. 


39 


to  tell  the  truth,  a longing  now  and  then  came  over  me  to 
put  the  shadow  of  our  umbrella  to  an  unwarrantable  use, 
and  press  a kiss  upon  the  listening,  half-parted  lips  of  my 
slender  comrade  without  further  ado. 

‘‘  I wdll  not  weary  you  with  all  the  trivial  details  of 
our  first  day’s  journey.  Suffice  it  to  say,  that  our  happy, 
contented  mood  increased  rather  than  abated,  and  I felt 
somewhat  like  the  children  in  fairy  tales,  who  run  away 
from  the  wicked  ogre  out  into  the  wide  world.  However, 
wdien  we  arrived  in  Cologne  just  at  nightfall,  I thought  it 
by  no  means  advisable  to  spend  the  night  there.  More 
than  anything  else  I feared  to  lodge  under  the  same  roof 
with  this  dear  little  creature,  whom  I could  sway  with  a 
motion  of  my  finger.  I told  her  that  from  this  time  on  we 
could  not  be  safe  from  pursuit  for  a moment,  and  therefore 
proposed  to  her  that  we  should  continue  our  journey  to 
Mayence  in  a row-boat.  We  found  a boatman  who  received 
us  into  his  conveyance  and  soon  fastened  his  slender  skiff 
to  a large  Dutch  coal  brig,  in  whose  broad  wake  we  went 
gliding  up  the  stream  almost  without  any  rocking.  The 
lireeze  was  stiff  and  kept  up  all  night  long,  so  that  tlie  ves- 
i sel  made  good  progress.  I saw  that  my  protegee  was 
I chill}^  in  her  light  clothing  as  the  night  advanced.  Fortu- 
^ nately  there  was  a blanket  on  the  large  ship  wliicli  the  man 
j at  the  wheel  readil}"  tossed  us,  as  at  the  start  we  had 
I secretly  purchased  our  way  into  his  good  graces.  I made 
i the  girl  lie  down  in  the  smooth  bottom  of  the  l)oat,  with 
I her  head  pillowed  on  the  travelling  bag,  and  tucked  her  up 
' with  brotherly  care.  She  smiled  at  me  before  crossing 
herself  and  closing  her  eyes.  I sat  on  the  seat  at  her  feet 
^ and  gazed  into  her  calm,  sleep}^  face  as  it  lay  turned 
toward  the  evening  sky.  I said  to  myself  again  that 
I she  was  not  beautiful.  But  her  lips  tempted  me  more 
and  more  strongly,  and  only  the  presence  of  the  l)oatman. 


40 


MARIA  FRANCISCA. 


who  was  meditative!}^  smoking  his  short  pipe,  restrained 
me  from  breaking  my  vow.  Then  I too  was  overcome 
witli  weariness ; 1 stretched  myself  out  in  the  bottom  of 
the  boat  at  her  feet  as  best  I could,  and  slept  as  if  I had 
been  at  home  in  my  own  bed  and  had  never  thought  of 
sucli  a thing  as  escorting  a young  lady  performer  on  the 
tight  rope  to  a convent. 

“ When  I awoke  just  before  daybreak,  I saw  her  sit- 
ting on  the  little  seat  above  me  contemplating  me  with  a 
roguish,  dreamy  expression.  She  was  holding  the  port- 
folio on  her  knees  and  had  drawn  with  a pencil  on  a sheet 
of  paper  a few  immense  strokes  which  were  intended  to 
represent  the  outlines  of  my  face.  The  boatman  was 
now  taking  his  turn  snoring  at  the  other  end  of  the  boat, 
and  on  both  sides  of  us  lay  the  beautiful  banks  of  the 
Rhine  in  the  witchery  of  early  morning.  I had  no  idea 
where  we  were.  Behind  the  ruined  castle  on  our  right  the 
moon  was  setting,  and  soon  nothing  but  the  morning-star 
was  shining  in  the  clear  sky.  Besides  this  there  was  the 
dashing  and  murmuring  of  the  waves,  the  crowing  of  the 
cocks  in  the  sleeping  vineyard  villages,  and  the  sweet 
voice  of  the  girl  who  was  inquiring  how  I had  slept — no 
wonder  that  it  blended  into  a beautiful  dream  in  my  mind. 
— Soon  after  the  coal-ship  anchored  off  a picturesque  little 
village.  An  inn  stretched  out  its  signboard  so  hospitably 
over  the  stream  toward  us  adorned  with  a wreath  of  grape- 
leaves,  that  I at  once  made  up  my  mind  to  spend  the  day 
here,  where  we  were  not  likely  to  be  looked  for,  and  not  to 
journey  onwards  until  toward  night.  My  companion  nod- 
ded acquiescence  to  everything  I proposed.  Before  we 
could  think  of  landing,  she  stepped  upon  the  oarsman's 
seat  and,  with  an  agility  that  astonished  the  boatman  not 
a little,  she  sprang  to  the  shore  across  a tolerably  broad 
stretch  of  shallow  water.  There  it  first  occurred  to  her 


MARIA  RRANCISCA. 


41 


that  this  feat  was  a reminder  of  the  life  to  which  she  had 
bade  farewell  forever.  She  cast  down  her  eyes  as  she 
tiiimed  to  me  and  followed  me  into  the  house  silent  and 
depressed. 

“ The  day  bade  fair  to  be  so  warm  that  it  did  not  seem 
advisable  to  walk  up  the  Khine  along  the  shore— by  which 
means  we  might  have  made  our  wajr  to  Mayence  most 
safely.  As  the  Dutch  ship  was  to  continue  on  its  way  up 
stream  that  night,  I proposed  that  we  should  spend  our 
time  until  then  in  the  little  inn  and  hire  a row-boat  again 
at  night,  which  for  a small  fee  could  be  fastened  to  the 
stern  of  the  vessel.  , ‘We  need  not  reveal  to  the  boah 
man  that  his  cargo  is  highly  inflammable  matter,’  I re- 
marked.—This  was  the  first  time  I had  made  any  allusion 
to  love-making.  She  did  not  seem  to  understand  me  at  all. 

“ We  had  closed  the  blinds  in  our  little  room,  and  some 
cherries  and  wine  were  standing  on  the  table.  The  higher 
the  sun  rose,  the  cozier  the  room  became,  flooded  with  a 
golden,  green-tinted  light.  I watched  her  as  she  sat  in  one 
corner  of  the  sofa  eagerly  poring  over  a little  prayer-book, 
until  the  poise  of  her  head  upon  that  superb  neck  im- 
pressed me  to  such  a degree,  that  I silently  took  out  a 
slieet  of  paper  from  the  portfolio  and  began  to  sketch  her. 
She  blushed,  but  sat  as  still  as  a mouse,  only  closing  her 
book  and  looking  down  into  her  lap.  However,  I did  not 
succeed  at  all  with  my  drawing;  her  bowed,  constrained 
attitude  did  not  suit  me  at  all  for  any  length  of  time.  But 
as  she  herself  began  to  speak  of  my  October  festival  and 
asked  what  it  represented,  and  I described  to  her  those 
scenes  as  I had  witnessed  them  on  the  spot  with  ever  in- 
creasing delight,  she  threw  back  her  head  of  her  own  accord, 
and  her  constraint  vanished.  I asked  her  to  stand  up  and 
assume  the  position  of  that  one  dancer  in  the  foreground, 
which  she  remembered  well.  She  did  so  without  embar- 


42 


MARIA  FRANCISCA. 


rassment  and  with  the  greatest  ease.  Nor  did  she  need 
much  urging  to  throw  aside  her  coat.  When  I removed 
her  neck-tie  however,  and  was  about  to  turn  back  her  col- 
lar, she  pushed  me  away  in  some  confusion  and  with  an 
appealing  air,  and  arranged  it  herself,  leaving  her  neck 
bare  to  the  shoulders.  She  bared  her  arms  too  and  seized 
a plate  skillfully  in  both  hands,  holding  it  over  her  head 
like  a tambourine.  She  gave  me  an  innocent  and  friendly 
smile  and  begged  me  to  be  diligent,  as  she  could  not  keep 
it  up  very  long.  I felt  strongly  inclined  to  clasp  her  in  my 
arms,  but  I barricaded  myself  against  the  enemy  behind 
my  portfolio,  for  fear  of  the  danger  of  spoiling  the  beauti- 
ful lines  of  the  exquisite  tableau.  I had  sketched  just 
what  I wanted  when  her  arms  dropped  wearily  at  her  side, 
and  she  asked  leave  to  rest  a little. 

“I  urged  her  to  drink  some  of  the  wine,  which  she  cau- 
tion si}"  mixed  with  water.  Then  we  sat  down  facing  each 
other  at  the  window ; she  took  the  plate  of  cherries  on  her 
lap  and  we  ate  our  breakfast  together,  at  the  same  time 
indulging  in  all  sorts  of  childish  talk  and  trying  with  infi- 
nite pains  to  toss  the  cherry-stones  between  the  slats  of 
the  Venetian  blinds  so  scientifically  that  they  would  go 
through  without  touching  them  and  fall  into  the  river 
below  after  describing  a curve.  I cannot  give  3-011  any 
idea  of  the  singularl}"  innocent  merriment  of  that  hour. 
The  fact  that  this  was  an  adventure,  a regular  elopement, 
and  3"et  that  there  had  not  been  the  slightest  idea  of  a love- 
affair — but  on  the  contrary,  that  the  most  serious  earnest- 
ness la}"  before  and  behind  us,  all  this  made  the  present 
brief  moments  of  our  friendship  all  the  more  precious  to 
us,  stimulating  and  yet  subduing  our  mood  at  the  same 
time.  After  the  last  cherry-stone  had  been  tossed  out 
through  the  green  blind,  we  gazed  for  a long  time  out  upon 
the  river,  where  all  kinds  of  vessels  were  gliding  past  in 


MARIA  FRANCISCA. 


43 


the  brilliant  sunshine.  It  all  seemed  as  if  it  were  a spec- 
tacle arranged  for  our  especial  benefit,  at  which  we  were 
looking  from  our  concealed  and  dusky  station  at  our  ease. 
■\Ye  felt  so  safe,  so  joyous  and  so  entirely  removed  from 
every-day  life  so  full  of  care.  Many  a glance  was  directed 
by  travelers  on  the  decks  of  the  steamers  up  to  our  little 
green  window,  and  one  English  lady  even  made  prepara- 
tions to  sketch  our  little  house  as  she  sailed  past.  We 
laughed  behind  the  bars  of  our  cage  and  I puffed  tiie 
smoke  of  my  cigar  through  the  Venetian  blind  in  order  to 
show  wdiat  kind  of  secret  accessories  were  contained  in  the 
landscape.  Next  we  saw  a procession  marching  on  the 
opposite  bank,  the  priest  at  the  head  carrying  a crucifix, 
banners  at  the  sides  and  we  heard  singing  from  thirtj 
tired,  parched  throats.  There  was  not  a single  shadow, 
not  even  as  wide  as  a finger,  on  the  road  opposite  us,  1 
was  just  about  to  exclaim,  when  my  companion  silently 
knelt  down  and  with  her  face  turned  away  from  me 
remained  for  some  time  kneeling  in  prayer  in  front  of  hei 
chair.  When  she  arose  once  more,  I had  a peculiar  feel- 
ing, almost  a sense  of  estrangement.  Fortunately  how- 
ever, the  landlord  came  up  stairs  just  then, — I ordei'ed  a 
meal  to  be  brought  to  our  room,  and  at  table  our  confiden- 
tial mood  returned  quicklj'  and  without  any  restraints.  I 
bade  her  play  the  hostess,  and  notwithstanding  the  fact  that 
she  was  so  clever  in  adapting  herself  to  her  disguise  and 
assuming  the  character  of  a lively  boy,  j'et  she  was  ever3 
inch  a girl  when  she  arose  to  serve  the  soup.  The  move- 
ment of  her  hands  was  charming  and  graceful,  her  wrists 
were  extremely  delicate  and  so  for  a while  at  first  I ate 
nothing,  being  wholly  occupied  in  observing  how  daintily 
she  handled  everything.  Not  until  she  began  to  blush  did 
I follow  her  example,  and  begin  to  teaze  her  because  she 
understood  how  to  pla\'  the  housekeeper  so  scientifically'.  It 


44 


MARIA  FRANCISCA. 


would  really  be  a pity,  I told  her,  to  let  such  a decided 
talent  go  to  waste  in  a convent.  Would  she  not  rather  re- 
main with  me  and  keep  on  traveling  around  the  world  with 
me?  Besides  I had  never  felt  any  desire  to  marry, 
although  I did  not  want  to  dispense  with  domestic  com- 
forts, and  I would  formally  adopt  her  as  my  brother. 
These  remarks  made  her  silent  and  embarrassed  and  she 
replied  only  with  a melancholy  shake  of  the  head.  After 
dinner  when  I seated  myself  beside  her  on  the  sofa  with 
my  cigar,  and  took  her  hand  in  mine,  she  did  not  seem  to 
resent  it.  Suddenly  however,  I perceived  that  the  tears 
had  come  into  her  eyes  and,  on  my  releasing  her  hand  in 
my  consternation  at  this  sight,  she  rose  hastily  and  left  the 
room.  I appreciated  too  well  what  oppressed  her  heart  to 
have  afflicted  her  with  questions.  Indeed  it  seemed  to 
me  too,  more  and  more  unnatural  that  Mayence  was  to  ' 
be  the  limit  to  our  journey,  our  friendship  and  her  liberty. 
Moreover  you  know,  my  dear  friend,  that  up  to  this  time,  : 
without  being  in  the  least  averse  to  women  and  in  spite  of 
many  a slight  adventure,  I had  really  sought  men  alone  as 
my  associates.  The  feeling  that  I was  actually  dear  to  a 
woman,  came  over  me  then  for  the  first  time  filling  me  wdth 
a delight  never  before  imagined,  and  with  pride,  strength  ^ 
and  gayety ; and  when  I considered  in  what  surroundings  ; 
this  girl  had  remained  so  womanly,  my  reverence  for  her 
almost  surpassed  my  affection.  ; 

“ All  this  darted  through  my  mind  when  she  had  left 
me  alone  in  the  room,  and  in  the  confusion  of  these 
delicious  and  blissful  sensations  that  crowded  upon  me, 

I suddenly  made  up  my  mind  to  oppose  with  all  my  might 
her  plan  of  entering  a convent,  and  to  retain  her  safe  in  « 
my  arms,  I was  now  perfectly  calm,  I walked  up  and 
down  the  room,  whistling  and  singing  to  myself,  and 
awaited  her  return  with  impatience,  that  I might  reveal  my 


MARIA  FRANCISCA. 


45 


heart  to  her  without  aii}^  long  preface.  But  still  she  did 
not  appear.  At  last  I went  down  stairs  and  inquired  for 
her.  I was  directed  to  the  garden,  where  I could  not  find 
her  at  first,  for  in  my  thoughts  I associated  her  so  insep- 
arabl}^  with  the  idea  of  a woman,  and  my  wife,  that  several 
times  I carelessly  passed  by  the  young  man  in  the  grape 
arbor  wearing  the  painter’s  hat.  However,  she  came  up  to 
me  herself,  and  as  if  she  had  guessed  with  what  intentions 
I had  sought  her  out,  she  began  such  an  animated  conver- 
sation concerning  certain  matters  which  had  no  connec- 
tion with  us,  looking  at  me  at  the  same  time  so  serenely, 
that  a man’s  natural  diffidence  in  regard  to  offering  him- 
self to  a girl  as  her  husband  soon  arose  within  me  and  the 
hours  passed  b}^  unimproved. 

‘‘Not  until  that  night,  as  we  glided  along  in  the  wake 
of  the  coal  ship  in  a small  boat  we  had  hired,  while  the 
crew  of  the  Hutch  vessel,  with  the  exception  of  the  man  at 
the  wheel,  trusting  to  the  favorable  wind  and  a few  draught 
horses  on  the  shore,  were  all  fast  asleep,  not  until  then 
did  the  bold  mood  of  the  forenoon  return  to  me,  aided 
not  a little  by  the  charm  of  the  night  and  the  conscious- 
ness that  my  loved  one  could  not  escape  me  there.  She 
was  sitting  on  the  seat  beside  me  and  frequently  swayed 
involuntaril}^  nearer  me  as  our  little  boat  rocked  to  and  fro. 
I put  my  arm  around  her  shoulder  and  let  it  rest  there, 
although  she  trembled.  ‘Francisca,’  said  I,  ‘we  are  far  too 
I well  suited  to  each  other,  to  let  this  convent  plan  become 
‘ a reality.  You  are  much  safer  too  with  me  than  you 
would  be  as  a novice,  in  which  condition  your  father  would 
i demand  you  back,  because  you  went  away  against  his  will. 
I do  not  want  to  coax  from  you  at  once  an  answer  which 
I would  make  me  very  happy.  Sleep  over  it  tonight  and 
tell  me  tomorrow  whether  you  can  make  it  agree  with  your 
: inclinations.  I need  not  protest  to  you  at  any  great 


46 


MARIA  FRANCISCA. 


length  that  I love  you  dearl}  . But  it  is  very  necessarv 
that  3^011  should  love  me  dearl}"  too,  if  there  is  to  be  happi- , 
ness  between  us.  Consider  it  well.  I could  not  be  made 
more  unhapp^^  than  if  ^^ou  should  accept  me  from  a mis- 
taken sense  of  gratitude  or  from  some  lingering  dread  of 
the  convent.  Therefore  lie  down  and  think  the  matter 
over,  dream  upon  it,  and  tell  me  tomorrow  what  is  to 
become  of  us.’ 

“I  spoke  somewhat  in  this  wise  and  was  especiallj- 
careful  not  to  add  an^^  more  lover-like  speeches,  for  I 
wanted  my  wooing  to  avoid  every  appearance  of  precipitate 
passion,  and  did  not  wish  the  idea  to  even  occur  to  her, 
that  I w^as  not  an^^  more  in  earnest  than  those  others  who  ‘ 
liad  admired  her.  She  did  not  heed  my  entreaty  however,  -• 
but  spoke  at  once,  with  an  impetuosity^  and  decision  ^ 
which  induced  me  to  think  her  mind  had  already  been  pre-  ’ 
pared  for  a scene  of  this  kind.  She  said  that  there  never  \ 
could  ])e  the  least  possibility  of  such  happiness  for  her ; ? 
her  birth,  her  life  had  made  her  an  outcast  from  society^, 
from  the  peace  of  a home  and  a fireside  of  her  own.  There  ■ 
was  no  refuge  left  for  lier  but  God,  and  the  more  she  felt 
attached  to  me — and  as  she  spoke  she  looked  into  my^  ey^es  ' 
frankly  and  affectionately — the  firmer  she  must  remain,  ( 
and  the  more  she  must  harden  her  own  heart  to  my  words.  ( 
Besides,  she  knew  only^  too  well  that  I was  blinded  by^  my  ’ 
pity  and  my  kindness.  I would  get  over  all  this  when  she  ■ 
was  once  clad  in  a nun’s  garb  and  would  some  day'  be  ' 
tliankful  to  her  for  having  been  steadfast. — This  last  w'as  : 
spoken  with  falling  tears  which  showed  me  how  much 
steadfastness  she  possessed.  Slie  firmly'  refused  all  further.^ 
discussion  of  the  matter,  although  she  was  weeping  as  if^ 
her  heart  were  broken,  and  when  I seized  her  liand  and  1 
pressed  a passionate  kiss  upon  it,  she  started  and  turned  * 
away'  from  me  in  the  greatest  excitement.  ‘Do  not  de-J| 


MARIA  FRANCISCA. 


47 


grade  yourself!  ’ she  moaned.  ‘I  am  not  worthy  to  inspire 
you  with  anything  but  pity,  so  long  as  the  Savior  has  not 
washed  me  white  in  his  blood.’ 

“After  this  I saw  clearly  that  nothing  was  to  be 
gained  for  the  present.  I hoped  that  the  ensuing  days 
would  bring  some  relief  to  this  over-excited  frame  of  mind, 
and  had  no  doubt  of  my  ultimate  victory.  She  had 
crouched  down  on  the  bottom  of  the  boat  and  entirely  con- 
cealed her  face.  So  I left  her  to  herself,  and  watched  the 
play  of  the  waves  and  the  constantly  changing  banks  with 
that  secret  sensation  of  pleasure  which  the  change  of  scen- 
ery always  affords  us  when  our  hearts  are  really  at  peace 
for  the  first  time.  I went  over  in  my  mind  all  she  had 
said,  and  it  confirmed  me  more  than  ever  in  the  belief  that 
winning  her  would  be  for  my  happiness.  Strange  as  it 
may  sound,  I was  by  no  means  violently  excited,  as  would 
have  been  only  natural  after  such  a sudden  resolution 
made  under  unusual  circumstances,  but  I looked  upon  all 
this  as  a necessary  and  inevitable  step  toward  my  future 
welfare.  And  in  the  midst  of  these  peaceful  thoughts  I 
fell  asleep,  and  did  not  awake  until  our  Dutch  vessel 
Inimped  violently  against  the  shore  in  the  early  morning. 

“ My  poor  little  friend  had  not  slept  as  well  as  I,  but 
had  passed  the  long,  warm  hours  of  the  night  in  a violent 
mental  conflict.  When  we  ascended  the  bank  again  near  a 
neat  little  mn,  she  begged  me  to  leave  her  alone,  for  she 
could  scarcely  stand  owing  to  her  fatigue,  and  wanted  to 
sleep.  So  I was  obliged  to  consent  to  her  shutting  herself 
up  in  a little  room.  To  my  request  that  she  would  answer 
my  question  of  the  night  before,  she  responded  only  with 
a silent,  melancholy  and  decisive  shake  of  the  head.  But 
the  pressure  of  her  hand  was  warmer  than  usual,  and  this 
consoled  me  somewhat  while  I strolled  alone  through  the 
little  town,  and  climbed  the  hill  behind  it,  feeling  more  and 


48 


MARIA  FRANCISCA. 


more  keenly  all  the  time  how  much  I missed  her.  At  noon 
I returned ; her  door  was  still  locked.  So  I had  to  dine 
alone,  and  was  surprised  to  find  how  solitary  I felt  in  doing 
so,  as  I had  had  only  one  opportunity  of  enjo3ing  her  deli- 
cate attentions  at  the  table.  I sat  in  the  garden  where,  to 
be  sure,  the  oppressive  heat  was  not  specially  endurable, 
but  from  ini'  summer-house  I had  a view  of  her  window, 
the  curtains  of  which  were  still  drawn.  Not  until  the 
shadows  were  beginning  to  lengthen  did  her  face  appear  at 
the  window  above  the  tops  of  the  apple-trees.  On  discov- 
ering me,  she  greeted  me  with  a cordial  nod  and  called 
down  to  me  that  she  would  come  to  the  summer-house 
right  away.  I welcomed  her  with  the  greatest  delight,  and 
she  seemed  more  affectionately  inclined  toward  me  than 
ever,  only  she  avoided  all  conversation  on  the  subject; 
which  was  of  the  most  importance  to  me.  Her  face  was 
fresh  and  blooming  again  after  her  sleep,  her  eyes  wonder- 
fully bright.  She  dined,  drank  a little  wine,  asked  the' 
waiter  about  the  road,  and  how  far  we  had  to  travel  before 
reaching  Mayence,  and  seemed  to  me  in  her  roguish,  self- 
possessed  ways  more  fascinating  and  more  enigmatical  at 
the  same  time  than  ever.  We  arranged  with  the  landlord  to 
let  us  have  a small  carriage  for  that  night,  as  the  Dutch  ves-  ■ 
sel  had  not  lain  at  anchor  all  day  this  time  and  the  Rhine 
journej’  in  a small  boat  against  the  current  would  have  ' 
been  fatiguing.  It  was  beginning  to  grow  cool  in  the  twi-  ; 
light,  the  light  carriage  which  was  to  convey  us  had  been 
drawn  out  of  the  shed,  when  suddenl}'  a rapid,  one-horse 
vehicle  came  rattling  into  the  court-yard,  a figure  only  too 
well  known,  alighted  from  it.  Francisca,  who  was  just 
starting  to  return  to  the  house  to  get  her  portfolio,  was  the 
first  to  behold  our  pursuer,  who  was  no  other  than  Car- 
luccio,  the  clown,  and  she  came  back  to  the  summer- 
house, pale  as  death.  1 too  was  veiy  much  alarmed.  To 


MARIA  FRANCISCA. 


49 


go  from  the  garden  to  the  house  it  was  necessary  to  cross 
the  court-yard ; I had  discovered  a side  gate  however,  that 
led  directl}^  to  the  bank  of  the  river.  ‘ Let  us  leave  every- 
thing,’ I hastily  exclaimed,  ‘and  try  to  reach  the  river. 
We  surel}^  can  find  a row-boat  that  will  carry  us  down 
stream  and  thus  throw  that  scoundrel  oft'  the  track.’ — She 
took  my  arm  trembling  convulsively  and  we  reached  the 
water’s  edge  in  safet}^,  where  a number  of  sail-boats  and 
skiffs  were  rocking.  She  sprang  into  one,  and  I was  just 
unfastening  the  rope  which  was  tied  to  a stake  on  the 
shore,  when  I saw  our  hated  enemy  rushing  like  a mad- 
man out  of  the  house  and  down  toward  us.  I had  only 
time  to  spring  into  the  boat  and  push  it  off  with  the  oar. 
But  the  nimble  scamp  was  upon  us  like  lightning ; he 
seized  hold  of  the  rope  that  was  trailing  after  us  in  the 
shallow  water,  and  with  cries  of  triumph  and  derision,  be- 
gan to  pull  our  boat  back  toward  the  shore  with  all  his 
strength.  I raised  the  oar  in  a rage  and  threatened  to 
smash  his  hands,  if  he  did  not  let  go  of  the  rope.  He  only 
pulled  the  harder ; I raised  the  oar  and  the  furious  blow  I 
dealt  him  descended  on  his  forehead  with  such  force  that 
you  can  see  the  broad  scar  to  this  day.  At  the  time, 
however,  I had  no  idea  but  that  I had  killed  the  wretch, 
for  he  instantly  let  his  hands  drop,  the  blood  gushed  forth 
over  his  brow  and  eye^,  and  he  fell  down  senseless. 

“ The  whole  scene  had  been  witnessed  from  the  house, 
and  people  now  came  hurr3ing  out  to  the  aid  of  the 
wounded  man.  Our  situation  was  getting  critical,  for  al- 
though the  actual  circumstances  were  not  suspected,  yet 
our  hast^"  flight  from  the  garden  betokened  an  uneasy  con- 
science. However,  I had  previously  won  the  favor  of  the 
waiters  b}'  liberal  fees,  and  as  the  landlord  himself  was 
not  on  the  premises,  I easily  persuaded  the  other  inmates 
of  the  house  to  believe  the  hastily'  patched-up  stor}’^  which 


50 


MARIA  FRANCISCA. 


I told  them.  The  unconscious  man  was  put  to  bed,  a phy- 
sician was  speedily  at  hand,  to  whom  I gave  some  money, 
and  then  I left  directions  as  to  where  he  should  apply  in 
case  the  worst  came  to  the  worst.  After  everything  had 
been  thus  arranged  and  I had  received  the  assurance  that 
the  wound  would  not  endanger  the  man’s  life,  I immedi- 
ately hastened  our  departure.  We  had  no  time  to  lose,  for 
just  as  our  swift  horses  were  carrying  us  away  we  saw  in 
the  distance  the  police  force  of  the  town  advancing,  with 
measured  tread  toward  the  inn,  where  however  they  found 
that  their  birds  had  flown. 

‘‘Not  until  we  had  left  the  scene  of  this  terrible  fright 
behind  us  could  I attend  to  ni}^  companion,  who  had  me- 
chanically followed  me  in  everything,  in  a benumbed  con- 
dition without  any  volition  of  her  own.  The  aflectionate 
inquiry  which  I addressed  to  her  broke  the  spell  which 
seemed  to  have  been  over  her.  She  began  to  weep  and 
sob  convulsively,  and  the  first  sentence  she  was  able  to 
utter  was  a request  that  I should  turn  back  and  leave  her 
with  the  wounded  man.  She  said  she  was  only  beginning 
to  realize  how  wickedly  she  had  drawn  me  into  the  whirl- 
pool of  her  misery,  and  how  much  danger,  trouble  and  in- 
convenience she  was  making  me.  She  would  rather  go 
back  to  her  father  than  to  expose  me  in  future  to  aii}^  more ' 
such  scenes.  ‘Nothing  would  be ’easier,’  said  I,  ‘than  to 
set  our  minds  at  rest  forever.  If  you  will  consent  to  be- 
come my  wife,  then  my  authority  over  3 on  will  be  superior 
to  3^our  father’s,  and  we  can  calml}^  bid  defiance  to  all  his 
claims.’  She  was  silent  and  kept  on  weeping.  Her  lips 
moved  and  I thought  I heard  the  words  of  a pra3xr.  Then 
she  leaned  back  in  the  carriage  for  some  time  with  her  face 
buried  in  her  handkerchief  At  last  she  looked  up.  She 
seemed  to  have  been  tranquilized  b}’  some  sudden  idea. 
She  extended  her  hand  to  me  with  a look  of  intense  feel- 


MARIA  FRANCISCA. 


51 


ng.  ‘You  are  so  good/  she  whispered,  ‘I  feel  on  too 
leeph^  that  3^011  are  all  in  all  to  me.  But  I should  forever 
lespise  m^^self  if  I abused  3^0111’  kindness.  No,  3-011  shall 
lot  spend  3^our  life  with  a rope-dancer.  Nevertheless  I 
iccept  the  means  of  escape  3^011  offer  me.  Let  me  be  mar- 
led to  3^ou  tomorrow^  b3'  a priest.  But  from  the  altar, 
,vhere  I shall  have  vowed  perpetual  fidelit3"  to  3 011,  my 
lath  will  lead  to  the  nearest  convent.  I will  confess  to 
rou  that  1113^  bitterest  grief  is,  that  I cannot  belong  to  3^ou 
11  an3^  other  wa3^,  that  the  disgrace  of  my  previous  life 
nust  forever  separate  us.  However  it  will  alwa3"s  be  a 
consolation  to  me  in  my  penance  and  solitude  to  know  that 
; belong  to  you  in  spirit.  And  if  m3’  father  should  suc- 
ceed in  finding  me  and  should  claim  me  during  my  noviti- 
ite,  then  3’ou  can  interfere,  and  your  consent  to  this  step 
vill  ensure  m3'  peace  of  mind  and  protect  me  from  a return 
o the  world.’ 

“ I could  scarcel3"  believe  m3’  ears  as  I listened  to  this 
laring  stratagem,  this  exalted  love  and  renunciation  all  in 
he  same  breath.  However  as  all  opposition  was  useless, 
ind  she  insisted  that  she  would  accept  this  alone  from  my 
Tiendship,  or  else  she  would  return  to  where  she  pictured 
o herself  with  a shudder,  Carluccio  lying  upon  his  sick- 
)ed,  I promised  to  do  exactly  as  she  said,  and  as  the 
)ugg3’  rolled  merril}^  along  beside  the  Bhine  we  entered 
nto  one  of  the  most  singular  engagements  ever  made,  per- 
laps.  She  allowed  me  to  kiss  her  while  she  quietly 
jressed  1113^  hand  in  both  of  hers,  murmuring  to  herself 
M3"  dear  one,  m3"  best  beloved,  my  only  friend,  may  all 
fie  saints  bless  you  ! ’ and  so  on  without  ceasing. 

“At  midnight  w"e  arrived  at  Coblentz.  1 insisted 
ipon  it  that  we  should  not  continue  our  journe3"  fiirtlier, 
ind  should  have  our  mock  marriage  take  place  there  early 
he  next  moiming.  While  she  remained  at  the  inn,  I 


52 


MARIA  FRANCISCA. 


went  in  haste  to  a clerg3^nian  with  whom  I had  become 
acquainted  on  a previous  journe3\  I roused  him  out  of 
his  sleep  and  placed  the  matter  before  him  in  the  most 
favorable  light  to  myself,  explaining  that  I had  carried 
the  girl  away  from  a barbarous  father  and  degrading  pro- 
fession, as  her  soul  was  in  danger  of  becoming  contami- 
nated. By  observing  a judicious  reticence  in  regard  to  the 
convent,  and  especially  by  making  a liberal  donation  to 
the  church,  1 obtained  a dispensation  from  all  further 
formalities,  and  a promise  that  he  would  be  ready  to  unite 
us  in  marriage  the  next  morning  after  early  mass.  With 
this  good  news  I returned  to  our  inn  where  m}^  lovely 
fiancee  had  carefully  locked  herself  into  her  room.  I in- 
formed her  through  the  ke^^-hole  of  the  success  of  my 
efforts  and  received  in  return  the  tenderest,  most  grateful 
good-night.  Then  I laid  myself  down  to  sleep,  feeling' 
very  well  satisfied  with  this  turn  in  our  affairs,  and  fell  to 
dreaming  the  pleasantest  of  dreams. 

The  next  morning  there  was  a gentle  tap  at  my  door, 
just  as  I was  racking  my  brains  in  anxiety  as  to  where  1 
should  get  hold  of  a suitable  wedding-dress  for  my  sweet- 
heart, her  disguise  having  become  an  annoyance  to  me  now 
for  the  first  time.  But  the  door  opened  and  there  my  dar-. 
ling  stood  before  me  clad  in  a simple  black  silk  dress,  a; 
wedding-veil  and  a wreath  on  her  head,  and  behind  her  the, 
landlady,  whom  she  had  initiated  into  our  secret  the  night 
before,  and  to  whom  she  had  applied  for  assistance.  I was 
delighted  to  be  able  in  the  presence  of  a third  person  to 
kiss  her  sweet  smiling  face,  which  expressed  great  pleasure 
at  my  astonishment,  and  I joyfull}^  invited  the  landlady 
and  her  husband  to  be  the  witnesses  of  our  marriage. 

“All  passed  off  beautifully.  When  we  came  onto! 
the  neighboring  church  hand  in  hand,  it  was  still  so  earh' 
that  our  little  party  created  no  sensation.  We  breakfasted 


31ARIA  FRANCISCA. 


53 


together  in  great  gayety,  which  was  especially  encouraged 
the  stout  landlady,  and  the  good  woman,  who  did 
not  seem  to  be  at  all  shocked  by  anything  about  the  affair, 
gave  me  advice  as  to  how  I could  provide  my  young  wife 
with  a small  wedding  outfit  in  a brief  space  of  time.  I pre- 
ferred however,  to  have  her  continue  the  wedding  journey 
in  the  old  disguise,  and  after  we  four  had  partaken  of  a 
wedding  banquet,  on  which  occasion  the  landlord  did  not 
si^are  his  best  wine,  we  took  our  places  once  more  and 
drove  away  in  our  light  carriage  which  the  girls  in  the 
house,  amid  much  laughter,  had  decorated  for  us  with  two 
large  gay  colored  wreaths. 

“‘Which  road  shall  we  take?’  asked  my  wife,  when 
we  were  alone.  ‘Is  the  convent  outside  of  the  city?’ — 
‘Not  the  convent,  my  darling,  but  our  life  and  our  home.’ 
— She  looked  at  me  and  turned  pale.  ‘ What  did  you  say?  ’ 
she  said  gravely,  casting  down  her  eyes. — ‘ I shall  not  be 
such  a fool,  child,  as  to  give  3^011  up  to  any  one  else  in  the 
world,  now  that  3"ou  belong  to  me.  I have  all  the  author- 
ity over  3^ou  that  my  heart  could  wish,  and  1 intend  to 
maintain  it  honestly.  0nl3^  in  case  you  retract  the  con- 
fession that  3^ou  love  me . . . . ’ 

“ She  cast  herself  into  m3^  arms  and  kissed  me  ten- 
derly. ‘Is  it  possible?  ’ she  exclaimed.  ‘Do  you  want  to 
risk  a life  with  me?  Are  3 on  willing  to  forget  m3"  past? 
Am  I to  have  a future,  a husband  who  belongs  to  me 
before  all  the  world,  a home,  a fireside,  a life  of  m3"  own? 
No,  3"ou  will  repent  it,  3"ou  will  some  day  remember 
where  3"ou  picked  me  up,  and  30U  will  cast  me  out.  But 
it  makes  no  difference,  I would  not  have  loved  you  from 
the  first,  if  I were  strong  enough  now  to  think  of  what  is 
to  come.  God  is  my  witness  that  I had  no  idea  this  morn- 
ing even  that  this  could  be  possible.  This  thought  alone 
_ made  me  happ3" — that  3"ou  could  not  be  the  husband  of 


54 


MARIA  FRANCISCA. 


any  one  else  in  future,  as  long  as  I was  alive.  And  now 
you  want  to  marry  me  and  to  have  me  for  your  wife  ! Is 
it  really  true?  Are  3 0U  in  earnest?  ’ — I held  her  for  a 
long  time  in  the  most  loving  embrace.  ‘ Trust  in  me,’  said 
I,  ‘and  you  will  always  see  me  happy.’ 

“God  knows  that  I did  not  promise  too  much,  for 
during  the  five  years  that  she  was  my  wife,  there  were  no 
sad  days  or  weeks  for  me,  save  when  a shadow  of  distrust 
came  between  us.  She  had  never  known  what  it  was  to 
lead  a pure,  safe  and  confidential  life  with  any  one,  for  the 
people  who  came  into  the  closest  contact  with  her,  regarded 
her  with  suspicion  on  account  of  her  earnest  piety,  and 
even  her  father,  subdued  by  a peculiar  sort  of  respect  for 
her,  assumed  in  her  presence  the  semblance  of  an  honor- 
able nature,  which  to  be  sure  dropped  away  from  him  all 
the  more  hastily  in  his  nightly  carousals.  Thus  she  was 
accustomed  to  be  upon  her  guard  constantly,  and  to  fear 
worse  things  than  she  saw ; and  although  I am  not  con- 
scious of  ever  having  given  her  any  cause  to  doubt  my 
love,  even  in  my  hours  of  inward  discontent,  such  as  every 
struggling  artist  experiences  at  times,  yet  she  interpreted 
every  cloud  upon  my  brow  to  be  her  fault,  and  accused 
herself  passionately  of  rendering  me  unhappy,  beseeching 
me  with  tears  to  cast  her  away  from  me,  and  finding  in  the 
course  of  time  that  scenes  of  this  kind  only  excited  and 
grieved  me  more  and  more  deeply,  she  again  sought  refuge 
in  the  church  and  concealed  from  me  her  silent  distress, 
which  indeed  she  might  better  have  confessed  to  me  than 
to  any  priest.  For  who  but  me  could  give  her  any  com- 
fort? At  such  times  I suffered  unspeakably.  I almost 
despaired  of  ever  being  able  to  eradicate  that  which 
was  warped  in  her  nature,  and  to  lead  back  to  the  straight 
and  peaceful  level  of  an  every-day  happiness  a soul  that 
had  for  years  been  experiencing  the  unwholesome  effects 


MARIA  FRANCISCA. 


55 


of  the  most  contradictor}^  excitement.  However  thankfully 
she  might  receive  all  that  I could  do  for  her  sake,  yet  I 
remarked  an  ineradicable  tendency  to  the  adventurous,  to 
extravagant  flights  of  fancy  lurking  in  her  blood.  At  the 
same  time  there  was  nothing  repellent  about  this  tendency ; 
on  the  contrary  it  fascinated  me  and  I felt  wonderfully  re- 
freshed and  elevated  by  these  flights  of  her  imagination, 
especially  as  she  lavished  her  best  enthusiasm  upon  her 
love  for  me,  and  even  after  the  first  raptures  of  the  honey- 
moon were  past,  she  still  clung  to  me  with  a fantastic  im- 
petuosity wdiich  was  irresistibly  charming. 

“We  spent  the  rest  of  this  first  summer  in  Munich, 
and  she  devoted  herself  with  an  almost  anxious  energy  to 
the  various  duties  of  a housewife.  How  charming  she 
was  then,  how  radiantly  her  unspoiled  womanliness  shone 
forth  in  the  privacy  of  our  life  ! 

“We  heard  nothing  more  from  her  father  for  a long 
time — until,  a year  after  our  flight,  just  after  she  had  given 
birth  to  a fine  little  girl,  there  came  a letter  from  a remote 
corner  of  Poland,  that  had  reached  me  l)y  the  most  round- 
about way.  The  old  man  had  been  informed  against  on 
account  of  some  disgraceful  crime,  in  regard  to  which  Car- 
luccio  did  not  care  to  enter  into  details  this  time  on 
account  of  having  been  an  accomplice  himself,  and  Eberti 
had  preferred  to  flee  with  a few  remnants  of  his  troupe. 
The  illegible  sheet  did  not  contain  any  reproaches,  but  was 
merely  a request  for  assistance,  which  of  course  I could 
not  refuse  to  grant  him.  At  the  same  time  however,  I 
forbade  him  to  annoy  me  in  future  with  any  similar  impor- 
tunities, and  1 kept  the  whole  matter  a secret  from  my 
wife,  wlio  constantly  rejoiced  that  her  little  child  had  none 
of  its  mother’s  features,  and  besought  Heaven  to  avert  all 
other  resemblance  to  herself. 

“ At  that  time  I protested  against  this  prayer,  but  now 


56 


MARIA  FRANCISCA. 


and  forever  I nriust  lament  that  it  remained  unanswered. 

“The  sweet  little  creature  was  scarcely  two  years  old 
and  could  just  stand  and  walk  firmly  on  her  delicate  limbs, 
when  a desire  to  climb  and  leap  and  dance  awakened  with- 
in her,  which  was  not  to  be  repressed  by  kindness  nor 
severity.  I for  my  part  considered  her  movements  far  too 
graceful,  not  to  be  delighted  with  this  innocent  maternal 
inheritance.  Only  when  she  would  climb  too  high  in  the 
little  garden,  or  would  try  to  balance  herself  upon  the  back 
of  the  bench,  I would  take  her  down  at  once  and  forbid  all 
such  alarming  play.  Her  mother  however,  would  fall  into 
a state  of  the  most  intense  excitement,  whenever  she  saw 
the  child  jumping  or  climbing  upon  a chair.  She,  from 
whose  lips  a violent  word  so  rarelj^  escaped,  would  then 
scold  the  innocent  little  creature  in  passionate  anger,  and 
if  the  same  thing  was  repeated  during  the  day,  would  pun- 
ish her  darling  so  severely  that  she  would  afterward  re- 
proach  herself  most  bitterly.  ^ Alas  ! ’ she  would  say,  ' I 
knew  it,  sooner  or  later  there  will  be  retribution.  You 
have  taken  misfortune  into  your  home,  it  will  bring  forth 
bitter  fruits,  and  now  it  is  too  late  to  prevent  it.  ’ 

“ I endeavored  to  talk  her  out  of  this  foolish  grief,  to 
make  her  understand  that  it  was  no  disgrace  to  a girl  to 
delight  in  jumping  and  dancing,  and  that  she  herself  in  ‘ 
spite  of  it  had  become  such  a good  wife.  However  it  had  ! 
no  effect  on  her  prejudices,  and  she  actually  brought  things 
to  sucli  a pass  that  the  poor  child  only  dared  to  walk  with 
regular,  measured  steps,  and  learned  to  consider  any  incli- 
nation to  climb  a tree  or  to  walk  on  the  garden  wall,  as  the 
most  heinous  sin. 

“Thus  our  little  darling  had  reached  the  age  of  four 
years ; she  could  sing  little  songs  in  a clear  silveiy  voice ; 
with  tlie  greatest  energy  she  would  draw  figures  upon  her 
slate  which  bore  considerable  resemblance  to  birds  and 


MARIA  FRANCISCA. 


57 


flowers,  Riid  delighted  ever^^body  with  the  most  cuptiv^ citing 
smile  that  I have  ever  seen  beaming  on  a child’s  face. 
We  had  been  in  Innsbruck  several  months,  and  the  autumn 
was  approcaching.  One  evening  I returned  earlier  than 
usual  from  a walk  with  my  wife,  who  felt  impelled  to 
hasten  home  on  account  of  some  vague  presentiment.  We 
were  having  an  addition  built  to  our  house,  and  numbers 
of  beams  and  planks  were  lying  around.  We  had  warned 
the  servant  girl  again  and  again  not  to  allow  the  child  to 
climb  into  the  yard,  and  above  all,  not  to  let  her  climb  on 
the  beams.  Nevertheless  a flirtation  with  one  of  the  car- 
penters had  tempted  her  down  to  the  court-yard,  and  just 
as  w^e  entered  we  saw  our  little  girl  climbing  quite  a large 
beam,  one  end  of  which  was  resting  on  a window-sill  in  the 
second  story,  while  the  other  end  lay  on  the  ground.  The 
servant  had  disappeared  for  a moment ; the  workmen  were 
standing  above  and  below  and  mischievousl}^  encouraging 
with  loud  cheers  the  fool-hardy  child,  who  to  be  sure  was 
ascending  the  sloping  beam  so  easily  and  so  calmly  with 
her  little  arms  akimbo,  that  no  one  had  any  idea  ol  the 
danger.  My  hair  stood  on  end  with  terror.  I had  only 
sufficient  presence  of  mind  to  la}^  my  hand  over  the  lips  of 
m}"  wife,  wdio  was  looking  on  with  a face  like  death,  so  that 
•she  should  not  frighten  the  child  by  can  exclamation,  just 
now  when  she  was  approaching  the  window.  The  catas- 
trophe however,  was  not  to  be  averted.  I can  see  before 
me  now  the  lovel}"  little  face  as  she  stopped  at  the  upper 
end  of  the  beam  and  turned  around  to  the  spectators  with 
the  merriest  smile  in  the  world— then  the  child  beheld  her 
mother  and  myself,  suddenly  remembered  our  commands, 
and,  forgetting  all  caution  in  her  alarm,  fell  to  the  ground 
with  a scream  that  I shall  hear  till  the  Judgment  Day.”— 
He  ceased  speaking  and  for  some  time  we  walked  on 
side  by  side  in  silence,  for  the  horror  of  that  fearful  mo- 


58 


MARIA  FRANCISCA. 


merit,  which  had  been  revived  in  his  memory  and  strangely 
agitated  even  me,  sealed  the  lips  of  us  both.  At  length 
with  a deep  sigh  he  rolled  back  from  his  heart  the  weight 
of  recollection  and  said,  as  if  speaking  to  himself  : “ That 

was  the  beginning  of  the  end  ! Ah  ! my  dear  boy,  if  the 
lightning  had  struck  down  the  little  angel  at  m3"  side,  it 
would  have  been  a less  terrible  fate  than  that.  Then  T 

should  at  least  have  kept  rn}^  wife  ! But  as  it  was  the 

one  cruel  blow  made  a lonel3"  man  of  me. 

“The  effect  which  this  terrible  event  produced  upon 
the  mind  of  m3"  beloved  wife  was  almost  more  deplorable 
tlian  the  sight  of  our  dead  daughter.  She  fell  into  an 
apathetic  state,  an  almost  insane  insensibility  to  every- 
thing about  her  except  the  pale  little  corpse,  which  she 
carried  up  stairs  all  alone,  washed,  dressed  and  laid  in 
the  little  bed  as  if  to  sleep.  She  said  nothing  to  me,  she 
would  not  reply  to  an3"  question,  onl3"  lay  her  finger  on  her 
lips  and  point  toward  the  couch.  Now  and  then  I would 
hear  her  murmuring  : ‘ I knew  it  all  the  time  ! ’ — M3"  heart 
was  ready  to  break,  and  I rushed  out  into  the  air  to  give 
vent  to  m3"  grief  and  to  regain  m3"  composure. 

“ Not  until  we  had  buried  our  poor  child  and  w"ere 
leaving  the  churchyard  hand  in  hand,  surrounded  bv  a 
great  crowd  of  S3"mpathetic  people,  did  she  speak  to  me 
again.  The  tone  of  her  voice  was  low  and  tender,  and  the 
effort  of  speaking  brought  tears  of  relief  But  this  gentle 
mood  did  not  continue  and  was  soon  replaced  b3"  an  obsti- 
nate aversion  to  all  consoling  words.  At  night  she  would 
shut  herself  up  hi  a little  room,  where  she  would  lie  upon 
the  hard  floor,  sleepless,  praying,  lamenting  and  deaf  to  all 
my  pra3"ers  and  entreaties.  Nor  did  the  journe3"  upon 
which  we  set  out  immediatel3"  after  the  funeral,  have  any 
effect  upon  her  clouded  intellect.  For  a quarter  of  an  hour 
at  a time  she  would,  it  is  true,  appear  to  be  her  old  self 


MARIA  FRANCISCA. 


59 


again.  But  soon  a glance  at  the  small  gold  cross  which 
our  little  one  had  worn  at  her  throat  constant!}^  and  which 
was  now  suspended  from  her  mother’s  neck,  would  cause  a 
return  of  her  despondenc3\  Then  in  a species  of  soliloquy 
slie  would  utter  the  severest  accusations  against  herself, 
confer  with  God  regarding  her  soul  and  the  inexpiable  sin 
she  had  committed  against  me,  and  would  inquire  at  eveiy 
house  whether  it  was  the  convent  and  whether  she  would 
be  turned  away  because  she  had  come  live  years  too  late. 
I only  occasionally  succeeded  in  banishing  this  fatally 
despondent  mood  and  arousing  her  b}^  means  of  redoubled 
warmth  and  tenderness,  so  that  she  would  promise  me  to 
live  for  my  sake.  After  two  weeks  had  passed  away  how- 
ever, and  no  change  had  taken  place  in  her  condition,  I 
lost  courage  entirel} , and  abandoned  myself  to  a hopeless 
apathy,  and  for  half  a da}^  at  a time  we  would  not  exchange 
a word. 

I onl}^  revived  a little  for  the  first  time  when  we 
issued  from  the  lonely  mountain  district  and  rode  through 
the  cit}"  gate  at  Vienna.  The  bustling  life  in  the  large  cit}- 
seemed  to  deliver  my  wife  too  from  her  torturing  visions. 
She  quieth^  consented  to  my  leading  her  at  noon  down  to 
the  tahle  d'  liote^  where  there  was  a numerous  company  of 
liA^el}^  people.  The  appearance  of  Francisca  in  deep  mourn- 
ing, her  shingled  hair  bound  down  over  her  forehead  by  a 
black  ribbon,  her  mournful  eyes  that  scarcely  glanced  at 
the  people  present — all  this  made  a sudden  impression 
upon  the  compan}^  While  the  rest  however  soon  recov- 
ered from  this,  I observed  that  the  glances  of  several 
gentlemen  at  the  other  end  of  the  table  were  constantly 
directed  toward  us,  and  that  we  were  without  doubt  the 
subject  of  their  whispered  conversation. 

“ I paid  no  particular  attention  to  this  fact  until  Fran- 
cisca suddenly  turned  to  me  and  whispered  that  she  felt 


60 


MARIA  RllANCISCA. 


ill  and  wished  to  go  up  stairs.  We  left  the  table  and  when 
we  were  alone  in  our  room,  she  said  to  me,  with  a strangel}^ 
troubled  face  : ‘ I have  been  recognized  ; they  know  who 

I am,  who  I was.  Let  us  flee  ! ’ — I took  great  pains  to 
convince  her  that  nothing  had  happened  that  could  injure 
her  in  any  way.  She  had  attracted  attention  because  of 
the  style  of  her  hair,  and  her  mourning  dress.  However, 
if  it  would  calm  her,  we  would  set  out  again  the  next  day. 
Only  I should  have  to  go  to  a banker's  first  and  provide 
myself  with  money.  This  soothed  her  apparently;  she 
urged  me  to  go  immediately  and  to  come  back  again  soon. 
Meanwhile  she  would  sleep. — And  so  I left  her. 

“ I sprang  into  a cab,  that  took  me  to  the  bank  and 
back  again  in  less  than  an  hour.  As  I entered  the  hotel 
again,  full  of  anxious  thoughts,  the  porter  handed  me  the 
key  of  our  room,  saying  that  Madame  had  gone  out  on  an 
errand.  But  she  had  not  intended  to  deceive  me  b}^  this 
message.  On  the  table  in  our  room  I found  a sealed  letter 
which,  as  I had  long  feared,  contained  a farewell.  She 
thanked  me  with  the  most  touching  tenderness  for  all  I 
had  been  to  her  and  would  ever  continue  to  be.  Our  chil- 
dren however,  if  God  were  willing  to  vouchsafe  to  us  a 
substitute  for  the  child  who  had  been  torn  from  our  arms, 
would  be  branded  because  of  their  mother’s  3^011  th,  and  the 
curse  clung  to  her.  The  gentlemen  who  had  recognized 
her  at  dinner  had  annoyed  her  with  their  attentions  some 
years  before  in  Brussels,  and  while  I was  gone,  she  had 
heard  the  servant-girls  in  the  court  openl}^  talking  about 
the  lady  up  stairs  being  a rope-dancer.  It  was  decided  now. 
She  was  going  to  return  to  God’s  protection.  He  in  His 
merc}^  would  not  reject  her.  She  asked  me  to  pra}^  for  her, . 
as  she  w^ould  pra}"  for  me  and  for  her  child  eveiy  da}'  of  her 
life.  It  would  be  in  vain  however,  to  look  for  her.  The 
letter  ended  with  a wonderful  blending  of  the  most  pious 


MARIA  FRANCISCA. 


61 


blessings  and  the  most  glowing  protestations  of  love.  I 
jpiit  it  into  my  pocket  and  with  iniseiy  and  death  in  my 
heart,  rushed  out  into  the  city,  went  up  one  street  and 
down  another,  staring  in  at  every  window,  knocking  at  the 
gate  of  every  church  and  ever}"  convent,  until  at  midnight 
I sank  down  like  a drunken  man  in  a little  coffee  house  in 
the  outskirts  of  the  city  and  lay  there  until  morning. 

“Two  3"ears  have  passed  since  that  unhappy  da}", 
during  which  time  I have  not  known  whether  she  was  alive 
or  dead.  To  this  day  I cannot  understand  how  she  could 
have  succeeded  in  so  completely  obliterating  every  trace  of 
herself  and  eluding  the  desperate  search  which  I instituted 
for  her.  After  that  I wandered  aimlessly  around,  roamed 
through  Bohemia,  Hungary  and  Lombardy,  went  rushing 
suddenly  to  Mayence,  impelled  by  some  delusive  presenti- 
ment, and  then,  hearing  no  tidings  of  her  there,  I went 
down  the  Rhine  to  the  northern  coast  of  Holland.  With 
what  emotions  I beheld  again  the  banks  of  the  Rhine  and 
the  little  Auntagers’  villages  that  had  once  sheltered  our 
dawning  happiness  ! I thought  I learned  then  for  the  first 
time  through  my  sorrow  how  precious  she  had  been  to  me. 
Tlie  thought  that  I had  been  depriA^ed  of  my  wife,  not 
through  death  which  God  sends,  but  because  of  a Avillful 
delusion,  and  that  perhaps  she  herself  in  her  conA^ent-cell 
had  already  realized  how  deeply  and  wickedly  she  had  de- 
frauded us  both  of  our  sacred  right  to  happiness,  now, 
when  no  repentance  could  restore  her  to  me — this  thought 
lay  upon  my  breast  like  a nightmare  and  weakened  all  my 
vital  powers. 

“So  I am  eternally  grateful  to  you,”  said  my  friend, 
turning  to  me  and  putting  his  arm  around  me  as  we 
walked,  “for  dragging  me  out  of  my  living  torn!)  and  bring- 
ing me  into  this  region,  where  the  clouds  are  breaking  OA"er 
my  head  and  the  sky  ought  to  clear,  though  it  Avill  hence- 


62 


MARIA  PRANCISCA. 


forth  remain  dark  and  sunless.  Since  I know  that  she  is 
dead,  the  thought  of  her  has  lost  its  keenest  sting,  and  I 
can  hope  that  the  wound  in  my  heart  will  heal  in  the 
course  of  years.  Whether  I shall  become  a happ}'  man 
again — God  knows  ! 

“ Even  the  hardened  sinner  Caiiuccio  is  no  longer  the 
same  man  and  told  me  in  his  own  rude  way  that  the  fate 
of  the  unfortunate  woman  pursued  him  like  a shadow. 
He  had  scarcely  recognized  her  with  her  eyes  so  dim 
and  her  lips  so  pale.  She  looked  at  him  like  a saint.  I 
could  only  ascertain  from  him  by  degrees  how  it  all  had 
come  about,  for  he  could  not  stop  sounding  her  praises. 
At  the  time  he  came  in  pursuit  of  us,  it  was  true,  his  heart 
contained  nothing  but  rage  and  jealousy,  and  he  could 
have  strangled  her  without  a scruple  simply  to  snatch  her 
awa}"  from  me.  Through  the  boatman  who  saw  her  make 
that  spring  from  the  skiff  to  the  shore  he  learned  the  road 
we  had  taken.  It  had  occurred  to  him  then  that  a girl  ' 
might  be  concealed  in  the  painter’s  costume  and  on  his 
return  home  he  had  related  the  odd  incident.  After  being 
wounded,  Carluccio  had  to  give  up  the  idea  of  following 
us  any  further.  And  when  he  at  length  reached  Duessel- 
dorf  again,  old  Eberti  was  already  too  deeply  iin^olved  in  | 
his  villainous  scheme,  for  him  not  to  think  first  of  all  of  i 
his  own  safety.  So  they  escaped  to  Poland,  the  boy  died  - 
on  the  road,  and  the  rest  kept  on  in  the  old  way.  But  ; 
even  in  Poland  they  could  not  remain  undisco^^ered.  AVher- 
ever  they  went  they  read  published  descriptions  of  them- 
selves to  aid  in  their  detection,  and  one  day  Carluccio 
secretly  took  his  departure  and  b}"  means  of  his  deviltries 
made  his  way  to  the  Crimea.  The  ground  there  was  ripe 
for  him  on  account  of  the  war.  He  brought  his  manifold 
talents  into  play  as  sutler,  spy  and  clown,  and,  as  he  said, 
always  kept  carefully  beyond  the  range  of  shots.  In  spite  * 


MARIA  FRANCISCA. 


63 


of  this  however,  one  da}-  a Eussian  ball  reached  further 
than  he  had  calculated.  When  he  opened  his  e^^es  again 
in  the  hospital,  they  were  met  by  a sight  that  made  him 
wonder  in  his  weak  condition  whether  he  were  awake  or 
had  come  to  himself  in  the  next  world.  A sister  of  charity 
was  standing  by  his  bedside  renewing  the  bandage  on  his 
arm.  He  could  not  speak  to  her  till  the  next  day  and  ask 
her  if  it  were  she.  She  laid  her  finger  on  her  lips  and  did 
not  come  near  him  again.  He  learned  from  others  that 
she  was  called  Sister  Maria,  that  she  tended  the  wounded 
indefatigably  and  shared  the  privations  of  camp-life  with- 
out a murmur.  He  saw  her  afterward  now  and  then  from 
a distance,  but  her  severe  look  and  the  consciousness  of 
how  much  wrong  he  had  committed  against  her  in  days 
gone  by,  restrained  him  from  approaching  her. 

“One  evening  however,  after  a terrible  fight,  as  he 
was  walking  along  thoughtlessly  between  the  ambulances, 
and  helping  now  and  then  to  lift  up  some  wounded  man, 
he  reached  a slight  elevation,  which  had  been  for  a time 
the  central  point  of  the  battle,  until  the  Russians  had  been 
obliged  to  withdraw  nearer  to  the  city.  There  lay  the  dead 
and  wounded  thickly  strewn  together.  But  among  the 
weapons  and  uniforms  the  Italian’s  keen  eye  recognized 
the  black  and  white  habit  of  a sister  of  charity,  who  had 
arrived  upon  this  fatal  spot  sooner  than  the  army  phy- 
sicians. Now  however,  she  lay  motionless  with  the  rest, 
shot  in  the  breast  by  a stray  bullet.  Carluccio  lifted  the 
veil  that  had  fallen  over  her  face.  Then  he  recognized  her 
and  the  sudden  sight  gave  him  a fearful  shock.  As  the 
cool  air  touched  her  face  she  opened  her  eyes  once  more. 
He  bent  over  her  and  called  her  by  name.  She  made  an 
effort  to  move.  But  only  the  soul  within  her  was  still 
active.  The  golden  cross  hung  at  her  throat ; she  looked 
at  it  and  said  : ‘ Take  it  to  my  husband,  Carluccio.  Tell 


64 


MARIA  TRANCISCA. 


him*  good-bye  for  me.  He’ — At  that  moment  a priest 
drew  near  with  the  sacrament.  She  was  still  able  to  fold 
her  hands  over  her  bosom  and  receive  the  communion. 
Then  she  breathed  her  last. 

“ That  night  the  poor  fellow  dug  a grave  for  her  with 
his  own  hands,  and  laid  her  in  it.  He  then  removed  the 
cross  from  her  neck,  kissed  it  and  sat  the  whole  night  long 
like  a faithful  dog  upon  the  level  grave,  weeping,  as  he 
told  me,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  other  tears  than  those 
of  anger  and  impotent  malice.  As  he  gave  me  the  cross, 
which  he  had  carefully  preserved  in  a box  by  itself,  he 
begged  permission  to  kiss  it  just  once  more.  I could  not 
refuse  him  this.  When  I rose  to  depart,  I laid  a gold 
piece  upon  the  table  ; he  could  not  be  persuaded  to  accept 
it,  however.  Then  he  wanted  me  to  promise  to  come  again 
and  tell  him  more  about  her  than  I had  had  already  com- 
municated at  his  urgent  request.  He  will  wait  for  me 
in  vain.” 


INDEX  TO  PAGES 


OF  THE 

“COLLECTION  SCHICK,” 

on  which  may  be  found  the  first  paragraphs  of  each  page  of  the 
English  Translation. 

O 

L’ARRABIATA. 


Engl  ish. 

German. 

English. 

German. 

English. 

German. 

PAGE. 

PAGE. 

PAGE. 

PAGE. 

PAGE. 

PAGE. 

5. . . 

...  5 

14.  . 

. . . .13 

23.  . . 

22 

6.  . . 

...  6 

15.  . 

. . . .14 

24.  . . 

. . .22 

7. . . 

6 

16.. 

..  ..15 

25.  . . 

. . . 23 

8. . . 

, . . . 7 

17.  . 

. . . .16 

26.  . . 

. . .24 

9. . . 

....8 

18.  . 

. . . .17 

27. . . 

. . .25 

10.  . . 

. . . . 9 

19.  . 

. . . .17 

28. . . 

. . . 26 

11.  . , 

. . . .10 

20.  . 

..  ..19 

29. . . 

. . .27 

12. . , 

. . . .11 

21. . 

. . . .19 

13.. 

..  ..12 

22.. 

....20 

0 

BEPPE,  THE 

STAR 

GAZER. 

English, 

German. 

English. 

German.  English. 

German. 

PAGE. 

PAGE. 

PAGE. 

PAGE. 

PAGE. 

PAGE. 

5. . 

....  5 

21. . 

. . . .20 

36. . . 

. . .34 

6. . 

. . . . 6 

22. . 

. . . .21 

37. . . 

. ..35 

7 . . 

. . . . 7 

23. . 

....  22 

38. . . 

. . .36 

8... 

....  8 

24. . 

....23 

39.  . . 

. . .37 

9. . 

..  ..  8 

25. . 

. . . .24 

40 . . . 

. . .39 

10  . 

. . . . 10 

26. . 

. . . .25 

41. . . 

. . .39 

11.. 

. . . .10 

27. . 

. . . .26 

42.  . . 

. . .40 

12.  . 

. . . .11 

28.  . 

. . . .27 

43.  . . 

. . .42 

13. . 

. . . .13 

29.  . 

. . . .28 

44.  . . 

. . .42 

14. . 

. . . .13 

30 . . 

. . . .29 

45.  . . 

. . .43 

15.  . 

. . . .14 

31. . 

. . . .29 

46 . . . 

. . .44 

17. . 

. . . .16 

32. . 

. . . .30 

47.  . . 

. ..45 

18. . 

. . . .17 

33.  . 

. . , . 32 

48... 

. ..46 

19.  . 

. . . .18 

34. . 

. . . .33 

49... 

...47 

20.. 

..  ..19 

35.. 

....33 

INDEX  TO  PAGES 

I ' i 

OF  THE  I 

“COLLECTION  SCHICK,”  j 

on  which  may  he.  found  the  first  paragraphs  of  each  page  of  tlie^ 

English  Translation. 


O 

MARIA  FRANCISCA. 


Englisli. 

German. 

English. 

German. 

Engl  ish. 

German. 

PAGE. 

PAGE. 

PAGE. 

PAGE. 

PAGE. 

PAGE. 

5... 

...  5 

25. . . 

. . .24 

46. . 

....48  i 

G.  . . 

. . . G 

26. . . 

. . .24 

47.  . 

7. . . 

...  7 

27. . . 

. . .25 

49.  . 

. . . .46 

8. . . 

. ..■  7 

28. . . 

...27 

50. . 

....46 

9 . . . 

...  9 

29  - . . 

...27 

51. . 

10.  . . 

. ..  9 

30. . . 

. . .29 

52. . 

.-:..48  : 

11... 

. . .10 

81. . . 

. . .29 

53. . 

....49 

12... 

...11 

82. . . 

. . .30 

54. . 

....50 

13... 

. . .12 

38.  . . 

. . .81 

55.. 

. . . .51 

14... 

. . .13 

34.  . . 

...32 

56. . 

52  ' 

15... 

. . .14 

35... 

...33 

57.., 

IG. . . 

. . .15 

86.  . . 

. . . 33 

58. . , 

17... 

...16 

87. . . 

...34 

59. . 

. . . ^55 

18... 

...17, 

38. . . 

...30 

60. . 

....50  i 

19.  . . 

...18 

89. . . 

...  86 

61.  . , 

....57 

20.  . . 

. . .19 

40.  . . 

. . .87 

62... 

....57  J 

21 . . . 

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41 . . . 

...38 

63. . , 

....59  i 

22 

. . .21 

42.  . . 

. . . 89 

64. . , 

. ...  59  i 

28.  . . 

. . .21 

44.  . . 

. . .41 

24... 

. . .23 

45... 

...42 

■; 

r 


I 

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i 

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